Dangerous Waters, Blazing Fires
by TheBlackSister
Summary: When a young woman meets a not-so-young man, there's no telling where they'll go, together or apart.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This story was inspired by a detail in Jane Reed, the story of Jane Eyre's mother, a fanfic by Windinthereeds. Please review! If there's a number in brackets, there's an explanation at the bottom.

1

London, 1836

The drawing room was decidedly overheated and overcrowded. Women resembled odd butterflies with only one wing, as their fans moved in a somewhat annoyed fashion. Even so, the conversation was very lively; the ladies talked of the latest music, the gentlemen – the latest war in Parliament. Both halves of the company looked well pleased with themselves and with the hosts' champagne, distributed by footmen in stately powdered wigs.

Two men entered the chamber; immersed in their conversation, they dawdled in the dining room. Both were tall; however, one had a pleasant demeanor, while the other was dark, broad, and had a face overshadowed by some hidden brooding.

"… and I tell you that you ought to marry, Rochester! Really, you ought – look at Miss Clarke over there, quite a charmer! And both the Misses Campbell, very accomplished, and with twenty thousand each. With your own credentials, I'm sure any of them would be happy to achieve the position of your wife. Consider the latest fashion for dreariness[1] – any of them would adore Thornfield, would they not?"

"Oh, I am sure they would," the dark man replied, chuckling at some private joke. "Thank you for bringing me here, Freddy, the dinner was delightful, and the company is not so insipid as I supposed."

"You see, pleasant society can still be found," his companion smiled cheerfully, leading him to an unoccupied sofa. "Lady Graham has a fine taste in guests, even if she is unfortunate in her choice of husband."

"Indeed, Lord Graham is a… singular choice to have made," Rochester agreed, watching the cold-faced host speak on some political question amidst a group of elderly men. He shifted his gaze to Lady Graham, who sat with three or four other women on the opposite side of the room. Lady Graham had a round, pleasant face with pale green eyes and a smiling mouth.

"Who are the ladies next to the mistress of the house?" he asked.

"What? I see you are asking about the women at last! But… oh, what a crowd to choose, really! Let's see… ahhh, Mrs. Grant, Lady Chortham, Mrs. Copes, and… oh, Miss Jane out at last? A sight to see, indeed!"

"Miss Jane?"

"Why, yes, Lady Graham's eldest daughter. There's Miss Jane, Miss Caroline, and Master Robert. Miss Jane is the only one out at present. She is not much to look at, to be sure, but her mind is impressive. I believe her mother is particularly fond of her." Frederick Osborne took a furtive look at his companion and saw that the latter's gaze was fixed squarely on the subject of the conversation. The young girl had clearly noticed the attention, as her eyes periodically turned to steal a glance at the two men.

"Do you wish to be introduced?"

"I don't see the necessity." Rochester seemed to have been plucked out of a kind of a reverie. "In fact, Fred, I think I'll retire. This evening had lasted long enough."

"Very well." The two made their way to the hostess and thanked her for a "charming evening," stopped to bow before the host, and left the assembly.

Jane Graham sat before a slightly opened window of her bedchamber. A soft breeze ruffled her brown hair that flowed easily down her back and the lace of her nightgown's collar and cuffs. She felt completely relaxed in the oversized armchair covered with burgundy velvet. Her eyes wandered across the midnight sky, searching, calling out, and never succeeding.

Tonight was much like many before it. Papa invited many important gentlemen to dinner, and she, along with Mama, was in charge of entertaining their wives, daughters, and sisters. Dear Mama… Poor Mama…

Jane did not need warnings to choose her husband carefully. She could see it all in her parents' marriage – the pain, the disillusionment, the regret. It was mostly on her mother's side – Lord Graham saw nothing wrong in his family life. It was all very tranquil and proper; he had an attentive wife who performed her duties flawlessly, he had children – an heir who was making appropriate progress at his age, and two daughters, plain, perhaps, but not badly so. His wife, happy though she was in her children, often felt lonely and unneeded, as her husband pursued his political interests with the same ardor he once used to charm her.

That was one of the reasons Lady Jane grew so close to her children, spending an unusually large portion of her day with them. She had a special bond with her eldest – the two Janes could often be seen together, discussing some household matters.

The young Miss Jane stirred, shifting her weight comfortably on her left elbow. She felt wide awake. It was normally in the evening that all her senses came alive and excited. She could also feel a new sort of energy rising within her – this was new and unexplored, but also unexplained. What could possibly have been different tonight?

The woman rose and made her way to bed.

The next morning, the sun rose, cleansed and glorious after the rainstorm in the small hours of the morning. Its beams reflected off the crystalline puddles on the garden paths. The birds sang with a renewed vigor, welcoming the fresh morning breeze, which cheerfully ruffled the curtains of the opened window.

Two women sat in the chamber, the elder reading a small volume of poetry, the younger sketching a portrait of the lady before her on a pad. Every now and then, she lifted her bright green eyes to catch the curve of the mouth, the fold of the dress, the flutter of the eyelash. Finally, the girl spoke.

"Did Lady Granville talk to you about Annie last night, Mama?"

The woman sighed, closing the book. This particular subject had occupied her thoughts since yesterday, ever since the mentioned lady mentioned it to her. She looked at the book she had attempted to read just now.

"You read my mind, dear child. Yes, Clara spoke to me about Annie, and I understand her completely. Consider this, however; Robert is but fifteen, and Annie not yet twelve. What sort of talks are we to conduct now? I'd rather not push it. How painful it would be if we forced them into an engagement now, and, years from now, one or both would fall in love elsewhere? That would be too terrible, too cruel. I spoke to your father about it, and he does not insist."

Her daughter nodded, putting finishing touches on the outline of her mother's chair. She liked the sketch so far; it was unusually similar to the picture she had in her mind's eye.

"I believe Lady Morton likes Annie for her John, and so does Sir Edmund. I doubt Lady and Lord Granville would be pleased about marrying Annie off to a second son," Lady Graham continued in a disinterested voice. "They both set sights on Robert, it is quite natural." She looked at her daughter. "You would be interested to know that Robert and Annie's fate was not the only one discussed yesterday." Her eyes now held a spark of amusement.

"Indeed, Mama? Whose happiness was discussed then?"

"Yours, my love. Clara said that eighteen is a dangerous age for a girl of your rank to be unmarried."

Jane stared at her mother.

"What? Why is _she_ so concerned? Oh… _Neville_… Oh, dear, I hoped she forgot, or got distracted by the Devonshire girls?"

"I did hope so as well, but it is not so. She is still quite eager to marry you off to her nephew. I spoke to your father on that score, as well, and he does not insist. He wants Carrie to marry that man… in a few years."

Caroline was Jane's fourteen-year old sister. At her age, she had a much more striking appearance than either of her siblings. She also possessed an enviable musical gift, which she exercised daily.

"But, Mama! Neville is twenty-three! Is nine years not too much?"

"Your father has decided." Lady Graham sighed. "It would not take place for some time, dear. Things may and will change, Carrie will be well settled with a good man. Your father will not force you into a union which you abhor."

Just as she finished, a maid came in to announce a visitor.

[1] This refers to the Gothic fashion of the era.

Please review!


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to reviewers!

2

"If you please, come this way, sir. Mistress will see you now."

Edward Rochester followed the maid to the small morning room in the eastern wing of the large Graham house. As the servant slid out of his way and flattened herself against the open door, he was met with quite possibly the quaintest scene he had ever seen.

Lady Graham sat in a deep armchair by the fireplace. A small book rested in her lap, and a cup of tea stood on a small circular table near her right elbow. By the open window sat the girl whom he noticed last night – her daughter Jane, he remembered instantly. The girl put the sketchpad in her hand off to the side and rose to greet him, mimicking her mother.

"Please do not trouble yourselves on my account," he said quickly, answering the offered curtsies with a carefully measured bow. "I simply wished to thank you for the evening, my lady," he continued, facing Lady Graham.

"It was entirely my pleasure, sir," the woman replied, her delight quite obvious. "Mr. Osborne is an old friend of the family, and his recommendations are always taken very seriously in this house; the one he gave us concerning you was so outstanding, however, that we all wished to meet his famous friend. I do not believe my daughter was introduced to you last night – this is Miss Jane.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir," Jane supplied, curtsying once more. "I can only repeat what my mother said already; your fame has preceded you here."

_I fervently hope not_, Rochester thought, smiling at the young girl. There was something singular about her; she was a good deal shorter than himself, and looked directly into his eyes with a pair of bright green orbs. He supposed she could have been called plain, but a great deal of natural vivacity was quite apparent to him.

At this time, the maid came in again, carrying a small silver tray with a visiting card on it. Lady Graham excused herself and left.

"Do sit down, sir," Jane spoke. Her voice was so calm, almost soothing. She resumed her own seat opposite from him and picked up her work basket. Her hands now occupied with a needle, she continued:

"I understand from Mr. Osborne's account that you have been in London but a week?"

"Oh, yes. I haven't been in England for nearly two years, and thought it'd be appropriate to start getting reacquainted with the land here."

"Two years! And may I be so bold as to ask you where you have been?" Jane's eyes were lit with a genuine curiosity now; the small embroidery hoop she was holding slid out of her hands on her knees.

"Germany, for a year and a half. Then France for three months." Her guest smiled a little indulgently, seeing her delight. "I see you are fond of traveling, Miss Graham?"

"Oh, yes, yes indeed! I have never been further than the Isle of Wight, but I do so wish to travel one day. Papa does not like to leave England, you know."

"Is that so?" Edward shifted slightly in his chair. "That is a pity. I see you enjoy painting – you could profit from studying with Italian masters, I doubt not."

Jane blushed; her companion found it absolutely charming.

"I do like painting, but I cannot aspire to attract the interest of a true artist."

"May I see?" Rochester took the sketch she gave him. It was well done; however, he could see both the potential and the room to improve.

"And do you play the piano, Miss Graham?" he inquired , returning the sketch to the girl with a smile that she took as approval.

"A little."

"Why, that is no answer! I believe every lady I've ever asked said that. Would you do me the honor of permitting me to listen to a performance?"

Jane smiled.

"Gladly, but not now. The instrument is in the drawing room, and Mama must be there now with her visitor."

"Very well, but you made a promise just now, and I will hold you to it."

Jane inclined her head in assent.

Lady Graham returned.

"Jane, my love, go to your father. He wishes to speak to you."

"Very well, Mama. I beg your pardon, sir." She left with a curtsy.

Rochester talked to Lady Graham for a quarter of an hour and left.

Jane shut the door of her father's study noiselessly. Her head spun slightly, but she did not feel faint. Trying to decide what to do, she rang the bell for a servant. A footman came at once.

"See if Mr. Rochester is gone and where Lady Graham is," she said, closing her eyes.

Five minutes later she was in her mother's bodoir, also known as the Green Room. Green was a favorite of the lady, and most of the mahogany furniture was covered in green silk; the walls were covered with the same fabric. The lady herself now occupied a chaise, closing and opening her fan with irregular snaps.

"May I, Mama?"

"Of course, sit down, my dear. You have spoken to your father, I take it?"

"Yes, I am quite astonished."

"It is unexpected, to be sure, but what are your thoughts?"

"I told Papa that it would be impossible for me to accept at present."

Lady Graham nodded. "I did tell your father… Oh, well, there's the end of it, I suppose."

"Such a pleasant day, do you not think so, Fanny?"

Jane turned to look at her friend more closely. Fanny Granville gave her half a smile.

A week had passed since Jane was summoned to Lord Graham's study. Nothing had changed for her. Today, she was enjoying a stroll in one of London's smaller public parks. There were not many peple here today; those who had estates had removed to them, those who did not had to be at some Ministry or other. Lord Graham had much business to attend to in town[1], and his family were content enough to stay.

"Fanny, are you angry with me? I thought you might understand, I've never met him! How can I agree to such an arrangement?"

"I am not angry, Jane, but I do not understand you. It was a highly eligible offer."

"Indeed it was, but must I not meet him first?"

"My mother met my father two weeks before they married."

"I'm not that kind of person… Fanny, please forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive. I have long been expected at home." Fanny opened her parasol. "I better find Uncle Freddy, he brought me here today." The two women proceeded at a faster pace, Fanny practically flying and Jane attempting to keep up with her.

"Uncle Freddy" was found standing next to a small fountain, chatting with a man who had his back to the approaching ladies. Before Jane had the opportunity to greet either of her acquaintances – for she easily recognized Mr. Rochester in Mr. Osborne's companion – Fanny spoke in a shrill, hurried voice which made her displeasure quite obvious:

"Uncle Freddy, would you mind taking me home? This sunlight is quite oppressing, I cannot bear it.

"Very well, my love. Jane, shall we deliver you home?"

"Oh, no, do not trouble yourself, Mr. Osborne. I shall send someone for a cab." Jane had no wish to see Fanny for any longer than was necessary. She needed time to temper her indignation. Before Mr. Osborne was able to protest, however, Mr. Rochester spoke.

"Take your niece home, Frederick; I shall take Miss Graham home – if she permits me, that is." He looked at Jane, who smiled mildly and said that she did not object in the least. As Mr. Osborne handed Fanny into the carriage, Edward asked:

"Were you ready to go home, Miss Graham, or would you prefer to take a turn around the garden?"

"A turn, if it is not too much trouble, sir. Thank you for your kind offer to take me home."

"Not at all; a turn it is, then." He offered her his arm, and they moved in the direction of the rose bushes.

[1] London was often referred to as "town."


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks for all the reviews! I did not realize that the divisive symbols I used did not show - hope this is better!

3

As Jane's hand descended softly on his arm, a shot of electricity ran through Edward's very soul. He had never felt this complete before – it was as though this tiny hand lifted the immeasurable weight from his chest. Carefully, he turned to look at the woman next to him. She stood there, so close to him, unaware of what her little hand did. Her eyes, so pure and warm, watched his face with the gentlest expression he had ever seen. The moment could have lasted for all eternity, as far as Edward was concerned, but hiss common sense got the better of him. He suddenly noticed that they were still walking.

"Miss Granville was unwell, I gather?" he said, trying to keep atmosphere light, so that Jane did not notice the rush of emotion he was still experiencing. He saw his mistake instantly; the young girl's face darkened with some unaccountable sadness.

"I fear I am to blame for her condition," she replied. "She has a cousin, you see. A Mr. Neville Duncan, whom I've never met. It appears that he visited my father, his uncle by marriage, and asked for my hand. My father asked me, and I refused. How can I marry someone I've never seen before, never talked to properly – Mr. Rochester, are you quite well?"

Edward was watching her with a strange intensity. The question she had stated so simply poisoned his life for fifteen years. But she must never know. No one can ever discover his secret.

"Mr. Rochester?" Jane looked truly worried now. "You are so pale – is there anything I can do?"

"Oh, no, not at all – Miss Granville was right about the heat… Never mind that; you were saying – Mr. Duncan."

"Oh, right, well, there's not much left to tell now. I refused him, and Fanny decided that I am being arrogant, that I wish to slight their side of the family. She… well, actually, she's not the worst one. You know Elizabeth Osborne, Mr. Osborne's daughter? Did you know that Mrs. Osborne was a Miss Granville before marriage – a sister to both Fanny's father and Neville's mother? At any rate, Elizabeth saw it fit to remind me of my mother's "low origins," as she put it." Jane sat down on a bench; after a moment's hesitation, Edward joined her.

"How do you mean, Miss Graham?"

"Well, my mother was born a Miss Reed. Her father was a magistrate, as his son after him. Mother was one of two daughters. They were both sent to a fashionable school in London. Aunt Mary disliked it and returned home after a year. She married well enough – a respectable man, I understand. But Mama craved education and stayed, despite disliking the atmosphere of the place. Her closest friend was a Miss Clara Graham, who invited her to stay at her family's summer house in Scotland. There, Mama met Clara's brother, whom she eventually married. Her lineage was not exalted, to be sure, but his parents did not object. Some resentment was created among the family, however – Aunt Clara, now Lady Granville, does not like Mama quite as much as she used to."

"I see."

"And now, the entire clan is up in arms – or most of them. I am too arrogant, it appears. I denied a most eligible man the chance to make me a happy woman." Jane smiled at Edward. "They will recover in a week or two, I think. It will take them a little while to get used to the thought. As for me, I could not have acted differently."

Edward watched her face, deep in thought. His respect for her rose with every word she spoke. Here was a woman he didn't even know he was looking for his entire life. Jane Graham was intelligent and educated – experience has taught him those words were not synonymous – gentle, sweet, loving… He remembered thinking her plain that very first evening – it was its own brand of beauty. Her face, her entire frame made him think of elves and fairies – small, slight, and so unstoppably attractive. And she was smiling at him now, a warm, friendly smile that filled his heart with music. He would look at nothing and no one but her, as long as he lived.

"I fear I bored you with this account, sir," she said. "These were the things I tried to explain to Fanny, but she would not listen – or understand. She is a good person, but a little bitter at present."

"You have not bored or burdened me in the least, Miss Graham. On the contrary, your confidence is an honor to me. Be at ease – anything you wish to tell me I will listen to and keep private." It was a fresh feeling, he chuckled to himself, talking to a person and meaning every word. In the world of his and her equals, it was a rare occurrence.

Jane's smile widened a little.

"Thank you, sir. I do feel as though you understand what I am trying to say, and it is a great comfort. But it grows a little late – would you be so kind as take me home?"

Handing Miss Graham into his carriage was quite possibly the most wondrous thing Edward had done for a long time.

***

Lady Graham watched her daughter carefully. She wanted to see, to feel whether her faint suspicions were correct, and if they were, to put her foot down. Mr. Rochester was a pleasant enough man, to be sure, and could be useful as a friend, but she feared lest her daughter develop some… stronger feelings for the man. Lady Jane knew she would be alone in this fight; Lord Graham would no doubt consider the match as an eligible one, and Mr. Osborne, who had great influence over her daughter, was also a great friend of Mr. Rochester's and would, quite naturally, do everything to further his claim.

Lady Jane fervently hoped she was imagining things. What if she wasn't? She was unable to give a good reason even to herself why she disliked the thought of her Jane marrying the man. All she knew was that, every time the thought crossed her mind, her heart was filled with dread.

Suddenly, a coughing fit overtook her. Jane jumped up and had a glass of water pressed to her mother's lips in a matter of seconds. She had been uneasy about this cough her mother developed about two weeks ago. As Lady Jane regained her ability to breathe, her daughter appeared to relax a little. A few seconds later, Jane saw a trickle of red fluid escape the elder woman's lips.

"Ring the bell for Nancy, my love. I feel… a little… weak…" Lady Jane took a shuddering deep breath and collapsed onto her daughter's outstretched arms.

***

The doctor closed the door of the bedchamber so quietly, that neither father nor daughter noticed that he entered the bodoir. They sat, stiff and upright on the sofa Jane occupied so serenely only two hours ago. Now she sat, pale and disoriented, barely feeling her father's arm that enveloped and braced her shoulders.

"My lord?"

"Yes, Dr. Thompson?" Lord Graham freed his arm gently and got up, Jane following suit.

"Lady Graham is showing signs of consumption. If it progresses, we may not be able to help her," the doctor said, twisting his fingers in a nervous fashion. Jan gave a dry cough, which may have concealed a sob or a moan. Her father took her hand and squeezed it gently.

Dr. Thompson promised to return in an hour with some medicines he wished to try and bowed out. The father and daughter were left alone. They turned to face each other.

"Your mother is strong. She will survive the storm."

A month later, Lady Graham's body was lowered into a grave in the churchyard of the parish that included the Graham estate. Only family and close friends were in attendance.


	4. Chapter 4

4

_Good God, how cold it is!_

Jane wrapped her cloak still tighter around her thin frame. The cold wind, which lapped at her black garments, prophesized the ever-approaching winter. Her pale face was whiter than normal from its icy gusts; even so, she came here every morning to look at a graying tombstone – all that remained of her mother. It has been two weeks, and still she could not believe that the warm light of her mother's life was blown out, extinguished forever. Papa was insisting on a change of scenery, but Jane could not bear the thought of returning to London. Carrie and Robert were sent there yesterday with the governess – they were both having nightmares in the cold stone mansion. Jane's heart bled every time she and Mademoiselle Guisot ran down to the nursery and Carrie cried for her mother.

The sound of crunching gravel broke Jane's reverie. She turned around and saw a man approach. He wore dark clothes and looked to be around forty. His dark eyes were not revealing much, but she felt a wave of pain and unshed tears radiate from him. She suddenly felt akin to him, as though her grief was his, as well.

"Forgive me, my lady," he spoke in a deliberately calm voice. "I am looking for a grave of…" His voice broke; Jane followed his gaze and found that he read the name on her mother's tombstone – "of an old friend. Did you know – but what a silly question, you look just like her. You are Lady Graham's daughter."

Jane nodded.

"You have her eyes – her face, really. She was just your height – yes, just so. But she was a little more… Forgive me. It must seem strange, and you do not know me. My name is Charles Eyre."

"Oh." That was all Jane could say – she had never heard of the man.

"My family lived a few miles from her childhood home," he explained. "My uncle was the local parson. He took us – my mother, brother, and sister – in, when Father died. Your grandmother, the late Mrs. Reed, was a kindly woman and helped my mother any way she could. They became good friends – and that is how I met the Master and Miss Reed in the first place. Your uncle I never really befriended, even though I had and have the greatest regard for him and was very sorry to hear of his death. Your mother was a different matter entirely."

Mr. Eyre gave a sigh. He gazed at the tombstone with some pain in his eyes.

"I used to always call her by her Christian name. We were of one heart and mind. We saw the world in exactly the same way. We… Ah, but here I am not so certain. You see, I loved your mother since I was thirteen, at least. When I was twenty, I spoke to my uncle; I wished to create a fortune worthy of your mother. I wished to marry her. My uncle, however, was convinced I was looking for a wife on a level far beyond my reach. He said that, were she to marry me, the poor girl would forever become exiled from her kin. She would be despised and hated by her own blood. I saw the prudence of his argument." The man's voice shook with regret. "I left to study theology within a week. Two years later, when I deliberately wrote to her infrequently, I heard that your mother married. I have regretted my decision ever since. I'll never know whether she loved me now."

He looked at Jane earnestly.

"I do not tell you this merely to distress you," he said apologetically. "I only want you to know that not admitting your true feelings to yourself leads to regret and despair."

"Why, though? Why tell me that? What am I to you?" Jane could barely speak after hearing the man's narrative, but she had to know.

"I came here to see her grave. When I saw you, it was like seeing her many years ago. I… knew it was pointless, but I had to tell you; somehow, it feels like she now knows, as well." He approached Jane and touched her forehead with his lips. "Be happy, my child. I can see that you are your mother's daughter – always remember that." He turned around and walked away, not looking back.

Jane watched his figure until it became a dark speck. She then went home.

***

Back in London, Jane barely had time to think about Mr. Eyre. Her girlhood ended – she took her mother's place in the house. When she took her mother's seat – opposite her father – at the long dinner table, her heart contracted painfully. As soon as the mourning period was over, she would enter every drawing room and ballroom on her father's arm, which prospect served only to remind her what she had lost.

Mr. Rochester was gone – in the country, Mr. Osborne had said. She felt a little sorry – the last time she had seen him was the day after her mother died. He had come to express his condolence, and, for some reason, she believed his sincerity more readily than that of many others. He did mention his intention to leave town soon. All the same, she would have liked to see him.

Carrie and Robert were on the way to recovering their good spirits. Both felt their mother's death very keenly, yet their sunny natures were taking over. Jane could not have been happier. Like her mother, she spent every free hour with them, warming their hearts with an almost maternal sort of affection.

A change that had long been in planning was to take place in early June, a little over a year after Lady Graham's death. Lord Graham, thankful for his daughter's efforts wished to give her a holiday. Having found out that Mr. and Mrs. Osborne were to visit a family of friends in the country, he arranged that Jane should accompany them. New scenery and company, he hoped, would give her some relief from the dull drudgery her life seemed to become.

And so, Jane was on her way to visit an old schoolmate of Mrs. Osborne, a lady who had married a young officer. The officer had been able to rise in the world and create a tolerable fortune.

The lady's name was Caroline Dent.


	5. Chapter 5

5

"Ah, Miss Jane, what an honor! I did rather hope your Papa could share you with us country bumpkins!" Mrs. Dent positively glowed with pleasure. "Such felicity it is, when one's house is filled with welcome guests! Do come through here! Edith, my dear! And dear Mr. Osborne, how delightful!"

Jane smiled and nodded. Good thing she had met Mrs. Dent before, or else she'd be tempted to run all the way back to her father's London home. The good lady struck one as superficial and fussy at first, but did possess a kind heart. Jane embraced her with genuine affection.

"Well, Edith," Mrs. Dent addressed Mrs. Osborne, "you should find us quite a party! The Ingrams are here, of course, - Mary's color has much improved of late, - and the Eshtons, and the Philipses… oh, and, my dear, you will laugh, when I tell you that a neighbor of ours, who hasn't been in the area for eons, a Mr. Rochester, is here as well! You ought to see Eliza Ingram in one room with him – she's hoping to have him married to her Blanche within the year!"

Jane's attention turned to the hostess. They entered the house now; a cool gloom surrounded them in the ornate foyer. It was most welcome after the burning sun out on the lawn.

"Mr. Rochester, you say?" she asked Caroline, much interested.

"Aye, my dear, one of the Rochesters of Thornfield Hall, not fifteen miles hence! You met him in town, did you not?" Mrs. Dent smiled warmly. "He mentioned visiting you and your dear mama there."

"Yes, he came to us several times, with Mr. Osborne," Jane confirmed, returning the smile.

"Well, you'll see him at dinner, I daresay," the lady said.

In a moment, a group of maids with the housekeeper at the head appeared, and the guests were shown to their rooms. Jane was housed in a cozy corner bedchamber with a lovely view of a small creek. The room was ornamented with an elegant marble fireplace. The walls were done in a warm red color. The young woman slowly lowered herself into an armchair, a little tired from the journey. Her eyelids dropped…

***

Edward was coming back from a walk in the Dents' park. Their rosebushes would look quite nice if planted outside the library windows at Thornfield. Being an avid nature lover, he liked to add to the park on his property.

The expected guests must have arrived, as the lawn was covered with carriages. Groups of servants were unloading the innumerable boxes, trunks, and satchels. Unwilling to talk to anyone just now, Edward walked briskly into the house and to the second floor. Turning a corner to get to the hallway where his room was, he observed that one of the doors was slightly opened. Curiosity getting the better of him, he quietly slipped inside.

His eyes were instantly riveted by the small figure in the armchair. He thought of her every day since he left London. Her eyes, full of tears that threatened to spill forth, stood out in his mind. The night before they last met, her mother died, so it was natural that she was distraught.

Now, she was the picture of soothing serenity. Her head was resting on the back of the armchair, exposing the delicate throat. She was dressed in a simple gray dress and a cherry red cloak. A pair of white gloves lay on her knees. No jewelry was in view, except for a small ring with a topaz on her right hand.

The air stopped on its way to Edward's lungs. Nothing existed for him, except this tiny figure. He suddenly knew what he had to do; but how? Did he have the right to bring her into the nightmare that was his life? Yet, she would never know. They would not visit Thornfield often – or at all, while that menace lived. No one in England knew what dwelled in the tower of his ancestral home. Now, it was even more imperative that no one should.

Jane stirred. Her eyelids fluttered upward, revealing the weary eyes beneath. For a moment, she was too dazed to make out the identity of the man before her. In a moment, however, she blinked the sleep out of her eyes and smiled up at her companion.

"Why, Mr. Rochester, how good to see you." Sincerity gave her additional charm. "Mrs. Dent did mention you were here.'

She brushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek.

"Forgive me my impertinent intrusion, Miss Graham." Edward gave a little bow. "I saw an opened door and thought that someone needed help."

"Not at all, sir. We have an acquaintance of some duration, after all. I do not mind." She looked as though she had meant it.

"In that case, I am happy to have intruded," he smiled. "However, I shall leave you now; you have had a wearying journey."

"I hope to have an opportunity to speak to you more extensively very soon," Jane said hurriedly.

"Any time you wish, my lady." Edward bowed out.

***

At dinner, Jane and Edward happened to be seated at opposite sides of the long table. Afterwards, when the men joined the ladies in the drawing room, however, Edward saw her seated slightly apart from the others in a window seat. Their eyes met, and she smiled at him, inviting him to approach. He needed no further encouragement. Pulling a chair towards her, he sat himself quite comfortably.

"And so you shun London society in favor of country charms," Edward began. Jane's smile widened.

"I grew tired of society. It wearied me, with its rigidity and pretense. Sometimes, I regret being a part of it. Here, things are simpler and a little more relaxed. I pity those who try to emulate the so-called polished elegance," Jane said.

"Quite so. Have you long felt that way?"

"Always, I think, but more so after Mama…" Edward nodded in understanding.

"No need to explain."

"Thank you."

They talked of other things. Art seemed to be Jane's forte; Edward was a little impressed with her knowledge and expertise. She was also extremely well-read in other spheres – poetry, for instance.

"Papa always encouraged me to read, even if the reading was not of the sort intended for women," she explained. "I remember the day Mrs. Osborne saw me reading Tacitus – she was quite shocked."

***

Two weeks and several walks in the park later, the entire party was invited to Thornfield Hall.

***

_My Dear Cousin,_

_All is well with our Jane. As we had hoped, country air cheers her more than London ever could. Her bloom is quite returned. That, I daresay, is not the only reason. Mr. Rochester, whom you may remember as a friend of mine, took a keen interest to her. I will not say much on the subject, except that attraction between them is quite obvious to me. Do consider – he is rich, experienced, and unmarried. Should she like him in truth, the arrangement could be highly eligible._

_F. Osborne_


	6. Chapter 6

6

If anyone is still reading this, thank you, and I'm sorry for the delay. As I posted in my profile, I plan to update my two WIPs on alternating weekends; this story, therefore will (hopefully) be updated every other week. Thanks for reading and please review.

Jane sat on a bench of gray stone and drank in the delightfully cool morning air. The horse-chestnut tree and the seat around it became her favorite destination of all Thornfield grounds' nooks and crannies. She discovered it during her morning walk on the first day of the visit. No one else in the party of guests seemed to frequent it, but the quiet peace and solitude were welcome to the young woman, still reeling from her loss. Here, she could give in to sadness without the necessity of smiling pleasantly to oblige society. Here, she could be as natural as she liked.

A book of poetry lay near her, abandoned for the moment. Poems gave her comfort; they were her and Mama's mutual friends, and they seemed to understand every shift of her mood. They distracted her, at the same time keeping the most precious memories close to her heart. Jane could wish for nothing better.

A soft rustle informed her of company. She turned around and saw an embarrassed-looking young woman – no more than five years younger than herself, Jane thought – dressed in a modest navy-blue dress. They met on Jane's first evening at Thornfield; Miss Davis was the governess to the little girl who lived here.

"Ah, Miss Davis, won't you join me?" Jane had witnessed some less-than-civil remarks about the girl from one or two other ladies in the party and felt compelled to show her some kindness.

"I wouldn't dream of intrusion, Miss," the girl replied, coloring slightly.

"Nonsense – come and sit down. I am all alone and should like some company," Jane replied with (surprisingly) sincere gaiety. "Don't stand on silly ceremony now, not when the birds are so pleasantly busy." She nodded in the direction of a bush in which the aforementioned creature was busy practicing a trill.

"If you insist, Miss." Miss Davis settled herself at a respectable distance of the lady and looked at her with an expectant air.

"Where is your charge? I have heard of a little girl, and I have heard a little girl's laugh – but I've seen none! I hope you aren't a governess to a spirit," Jane inquired amiably. Miss Davis smiled pleasantly – that is, until the word "spirit" was said. At that instant, her face became unpleasantly pale.

"My charge is real enough, ma'am. She is with her nurse just now. As for spirits – " here a cautious glance was sent to either side of the speaker " – I haven't made my mind up that there aren't any here." This was said with such a solemn air that Jane couldn't restrain a chuckle.

"Indeed, Miss Davis? And what sort of spirits reside here, pray tell?"

"You haven't heard it then, Miss," her companion responded with a shudder. "Several times I have heard a chilling laugh – oh, Miss, it is true! Mrs. Fairfax, the housekeeper says I overexert myself and get nightmares, but I don't believe her."

Jane could only nod sympathetically. In three days she herself had heard nothing out of the ordinary, but she hated laughing at the girl to her face. She turned conversation toward literature instead, and spent the next quarter of an hour rather pleasantly. Miss Davis was well-read and clever, if a little superstitious. Afterwards, Jane resolved to take a turn in the garden.

The guests have so far been "fatherless," as the young Lord Ingram had put it – Mr. Rochester did not accompany them here. He had business to attend to – where and what, nobody knew – and was expected daily. Jane, for one, disliked staying at a place in the absence of the master. It made her feel like an intruder, and she eagerly awaited his return. She noticed, with some amusement, that she was not alone; Blanche Ingram often referred to the "gloominess" of Thornfield without Mr. Rochester. Privately, Jane agreed, though with additional amusement; Mr. Rochester's company was hardly cheery, at least in the conventional sense.

Tea was an animated affair, as most of the ladies seemed particularly verbose today. Jane sat next to Mrs. Dent, as usual, and the good lady was entertaining her with genealogical anecdotes of her extended family.

"… and would you believe it, my dear Miss Jane, they did not know they were first cousins till Maud's mother yelled 'Marge!' at Lionel's mother, for the entire blessed congregation to hear! And their children were getting married!"

"Well, my own family is rather connected to all our friends," Jane laughed. "Aunt Clara's married to Lord Granville, whose sister Edith is married to Mr. Osborne. Papa and he always call each other 'cousin.' Another former Miss Granville married Lord Duncan – Neville's father."

"Oh, those family trees!" Mrs. Dent waved a dismissive hand. "I probably have ten cousins I'm not aware of, and I'm content!"

Jane could only laugh.

As the evening went on, she became weary of chatter. The grounds called out to her, and she responded by taking a lengthy stroll. A lovely sunset graced the skies, coloring everything with the warmest of colors, and turning the world into a magical kingdom. Jane was always sensitive to nature and its beauty – it was one of the many traits she inherited from her mother. She observed a flock of birds on the horizon and remembered a conversation that took place a couple weeks ago…

"_Do you not wish you could fly away like those geese yonder, Miss Graham?"_

"_I suppose I do sometimes, when it all becomes too much. But I have duties and responsibilities – my father needs me, and so do my brother and sister. We must never shun our responsibilities, Mr. Rochester. It is the right and honorable way. And besides, isn't it nice to think that someone needs you – that you are indispensable to someone's comfort?"_

"_Naturally."_

He looked strange – almost _sad_ when she spoke then. It was on one of their strolls in Mrs. Dent's garden. She couldn't understand the burdened expression of his eyes when she spoke of responsibilities. But Jane was not one to pry.

Finally, she grew weary of the grounds. Her spirit longed for new sights, and she boldly ventured beyond the gate. Down the country lane she went, lost in her musings. Mama would often walk around the neighborhood with her when they were in the country. They would call on tenants or watch the shepherds tend their flock, or gather berries in the heart of the forest. Mama took delight in those simple things.

Jane nearly stumbled on a patch of ice. _Serves you right for daydreaming so much!_ She found a place to sit down and catch her breath in the shape of a log, nicely concealed from the road by a thick clump of bushes. As soon as she settled herself comfortably, a sound alerted her senses.

If her ears did not deceive her, a horse was approaching the stretch of the road before her eyes. And fast.


	7. Chapter 7

7

To my lovely reviewers – you are wonderful! The words you say make me smile – and want to keep writing. Thank you very much and keep doing your outstanding work. I assume it's clear that all I own in this story is a handful of original characters – everything else belongs to the great Charlotte Bronte.

Everything happened so quickly that Jane's mind needed a few seconds to attach meaning to the images unfolding before her eyes. One minute, she was enjoying perfect solitude; the next, a rider entered her field of vision only to disappear… _downward_? Finally, she understood that the same treacherous patch of ice she stumbled across was now located by a gentleman, whose displeased ejaculations could likely be heard for miles in all directions. She permitted herself a satisfied smile of recognition as she approached the scene.

The horse – Jane couldn't presently recall the singular name – was circling Mr. Rochester, who was making vain attempts to rise. Jane took care to stay out of the animal's direct path and yet approach the man.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"What's this? Miss Graham, what are you doing here in the middle of the night?"

"Well, I _was _taking a stroll, and now it appears I am trying to play the Good Samaritan."

"I see. Yes, it does seem as though my predicament calls for such an entity, eh? I couldn't encumber you, however – what reports of my hospitality would you circulate then?" It seemed that he reined in his temper for her sake.

"Have you ever known me to be a gossip, sir?" Jane inquired, with the same pleasant smile. It was odd how she did not have to force herself to produce that smile – in fact, she did not have to force herself to do or be anything in this man's company. Pushing that discovery aside, she continued. "There are no witnesses here – should I slip and mention the occasion, you'd be perfectly justified in denying it completely." A wicked glint in her eyes contrasted very prettily with the mock solemnity of her face.

"If only to oblige your Christian nature will I permit this," Mr. Rochester laughed. "You'll forgive me for leaning on your shoulder in such an indecorous fashion, dear madam?" he said, now copying her serious tone, using her shoulder to raise himself off the ground, and putting most of his weight on his – as yet – healthy leg.

"If I didn't, where would my Christian nature be?" Jane laughed. She helped him reach the horse and stood by patiently as he mounted. Her face still shone with the warmest of smiles, and her eyes seemed to radiate a light palpable to anyone with a shred of a soul.

"Do hurry back," Edward said, straining to sound politely concerned instead of imploring. "It is very dark, and will probably be damp soon."

"Have no fear," was the good-humored answer. "I have no energy for rescuing anyone else tonight. _You_ ought to hurry back and get that ankle attended to."

She watched him ride off. The night's meaning somehow changed, shifted around her. Jane felt like a traveler at a crossroads. The odd thing was, she did not know what she must choose from. What was being decided in this cool, moonlit kingdom of the night? What were the options? She did not know. She wondered if she really wanted to find out.

When Jane arrived to the manor entrance hall, the place was in an uproar. The drawing room buzzed with concerned women. Jane was willing to believe they meant well, but she was not surprised to find that Mr. Rochester and Dr. Carter were cloistered in the library. Not wishing to get in the way of healing – or have her ears wilt from listening to _an inaccurate_ account of _poor Mr. Rochester_, she went upstairs, trying to imagine the patient hastily retreating from the loving care of choicest gossips of the county.

The hallway was well lit by wall sconces. Jane relished the warm pools of light that illuminated the wood-paneled walls lined with portraits and the floor covered with deep carpet.

Her reverie was suddenly – and rudely – interrupted by the strangest _laugh_ Jane had ever heard. It was completely devoid of mirth; instead, it reeked of bitterness and misunderstood pain and… hatred. It reverberated through the hallway in such a way that Jane was unable to even guess whence it came.

Something came over the young woman. She felt cold – physically, as if she was shut out in a nightgown in the middle of winter. A feeling of defenselessness flooded her senses for the briefest of moments. Jane shook it off. What utter nonsense.

Even so, she ensured that her door was closed securely before going to sleep. Her last thought was _this must have been what Miss Davis meant_.

Mr. Rochester would not be deterred by his injury for too long. Instead of bed rest, he spent his days in the library - granting audiences to tenants, or the drawing room – amusing and being amused. At least outwardly. Jane, who tended to sit on the outskirts of the circles with the host reclining on something in the center, was vastly entertained by the effect all the fuss made on him. Most of the time he seemed to hover somewhere between annoyance and mirth at the displays. There was a catch.

The catch's name was Blanche Ingram. Jane knew her marginally as a daughter of a friend of Mrs. Dent's. Blanche certainly outshone any other woman in the room. Her dark complexion could not be thought of as anything but beautiful. There was something in her, however, that prevented Jane from admiring her. It was a very dim, undefined something, which gnawed at any attempt of liking her.

Yet Blanche was firmly entrenched in the Thornfield circle. She often sat closest to Mr. Rochester's sofa, laughed pleasantly at any jest of his, and generally tried to win his approval. Jane was keenly following her progress. As a student of human character – and folly – she was unbearably curious as to how successful the lady's quest would turn out. She had to rely completely on her own intuition – Mr. Rochester was no help. One moment he seemed to be almost flirting with Miss Ingram; the next, he'd say something pleasant to whichever unmarried woman sat nearby. Sometimes, Jane would get an uncomfortable, yet distinct impression that this charade had more meaning than was obvious. Some of the questions he posed to Blanche were rather particular – so much so, that a most serious intent was veiled by the game. All in all, her first week at Thornfield gave Jane much food for thought.


	8. Chapter 8

8

As always, many thanks for the wonderful reviews – they keep me enthusiastc!

Mr. Rochester began walking freely almost indecently quickly – in a couple days he went out with a riding party. Jane, who was not much of a horsewoman at all, saw them off from the front steps of the manor. It was a fine June day, and she spent it out of doors, reading a book under the chestnut tree. Some of the older ladies, long past caring to ride, were presumably assembled around the tea table, discussing – Jane would prefer not to know exactly what. Incidentally, the same topic occupied both parties: Mr. Rochester and Blanche Ingram. In the few days of them being observed together, certain conclusions could not fail to be drawn. Jane drew them as quickly as anyone.

She wasn't decided on her opinion – and even less so on why she had one in any case. Mr. Rochester – what was Mr. Rochester to her? An intelligent man… hardly worthy to be called handsome. A perceptive man… so much older than her. A caring man… with a manner of expressing himself in a way that stung many… but all of them invariably deserved it.

What was that she was reading? A novel – it was put aside: Jane had more pressing matters on her mind just then.

It was indisputable that Blanche Ingram meant to have him. Jane saw that easily enough. Mr. Rochester's intentions were less defined, but still unmistakable; Blanche had birth, education, a bit of a dowry, and she was every inch a lady – for the most part. She was best qualified to be Mrs. Rochester out of all other unmarried women for miles around.

_What does she have that I do not? She _is _more beautiful than I am, certainly, but apart from that…_

_Jane Graham, you ought to be ashamed of yourself – what a thing to even _think_!_

Jane blushed. _What made me think that?_ She rose and walked once around the tree to clear her head. What on earth had possessed her? She was contemplating Mr. Rochester marrying Blanche Ingram, and then…

A stab of pain – a new, unknown, alien pain – pierced her heart. What was wrong with her? She didn't know; all she knew was that she couldn't bear thinking about that marriage. She could think of countless reasons for which it must not happen. Blanche was too cold. She was not half as well-read as Mr. Rochester. She would bore him terribly. She would force him to enter society, go to London for the season, be seen, be popular – surely, Mr. Rochester would be miserable?

_Enough!_

Jane sprang up from her seat and smoothed her dress – that motion always gave her the sense of tabula rasa – a sense of starting anew. She took the book and made her way back to the manor house, with the intention of doing something – anything – to force her mind to switch to other things. Perhaps she could entice Mrs. Dent into a conversation about her grandchildren. That always worked wonders.

She was startled to see an unfamiliar horse directly at the front steps of the house. A guest? Jane was not aware that anyone was expected. She supposed it could be a tenant – but, if that was the case, why was the horse being led to the stables? Surely, a tenant could not be expected to wait if the master was gone – possibly for the rest of the day? Jane proceeded into the entrance hall.

A gentleman stood in the middle of the chamber; Jane did not recall ever seeing him before. At the moment, he was surrendering his coat and hat to a servant, his back turned toward the young woman. Sensing a presence, he quickly turned around. Jane was faced with a pale face, two eyes of watery blue and a sallow complexion. She was struck with how this frankly displeasing face contrasted with his tall, lean stature.

"Good day, madam," he said. His voice was pleasant enough, but his speech was colored by an odd accent.

"Sir," she replied, stretching out her hand, which he shook eagerly.

"My name is Richard Mason. I am an… old friend of the gentleman who lives here." Jane did not miss the hesitation with which he qualified himself.

"I am Jane Graham, a guest here," she said with a smile. "I am afraid Mr. Rochester is gone on business. I hope there's nothing urgent…"

"Oh, no, not at all!" was a genial reply. Hesitantly again. "Are you here on your own?"

"No; there must be fifteen of us, at least. Won't you come in?" They went into the drawing room, now empty, and chose two armchairs by the fireplace.

Jane had the strangest feeling of being a hostess in a house that did not belong to her. She could tell that Mason felt it too; for some odd reason, he seemed to be still more uncomfortable.

"Are you well acquainted with all in your party?" he asked. Jane supposed he felt it necessary to maintain a conversation, at least for a little while.

"Some better than others. Mr. Osborne has been a family friend for many years – in fact, he introduced Mr. Rochester to us. Mrs. Dent is an old friend of his wife, and she is of the party – I've known her for a long time."

Mason nodded, keen interest obvious on his face.

"Do you have any notion of when Rochester will return?" he finally asked. "I come from afar, and cannot stay long, but it is imperative that I should see him."

"I do not know," Jane replied, "but I should think he ought to be here by tomorrow evening, at the latest. I cannot imagine that anything could keep him longer."

Mason gazed at her with a strange sort of shrewdness. The young woman felt scrutinized in an uncomfortable way. She was saved by a tinkling bell – the ladies were warned to dress for dinner.

At dinner, Mr. Mason proved to be a welcome novelty. Sociable and pleasant, he entertained the gathering with tales of his native (as it happened) West Indies. Jane listened with great interest – she had always wanted to see the world, and such an exotic destination was highly appealing. The tales continued as the men joined the ladies in the drawing room after dinner.

Jane was, once again, outside the circle of the more active conversation. Her fingers were duly occupied by stitchery – it kept her hands busy, but her mind was free to listen and conclude. Mr. Osborne, she could tell, watched her with some secret amusement of her own.

A footman arrived, announcing the presence of a fortune-teller – a gypsy – in the library. Jane was amused now – all the young women were in a flutter of spirits. _Naturally, every one of them wishes to know when to order a trousseau._ She laughed inwardly at the thought. Blanche was the first to go, despite her mother's pleas. Jane heard a distinct whisper that sent her heart into a flutter:

"That one will not have to wait long, mark my words!"

_Stop being such a child!_

Blanche returned, much too quickly. Jane was as astonished as anyone to see her obvious displeasure. The gypsy must be a singular one, not to tell her client what the latter wished to hear. Jane was further astonished to see a procession of the young ladies leave the drawing room expectantly and return, invariably disappointed. Finally, every young unmarried woman (the gypsy would see no one else) except for Jane herself, had gone. Several began entreating her to go, while the footman sad that the gypsy wouldn't leave till she saw the last lady. Jane heaved a sigh and went off in the direction of the library.


	9. Chapter 9

9

Thank you for the reviews and please keep leaving them. Happy 4th to all of my U.S. readers!

The room was rather dark; the only light came from the crackling fireplace. For a few moments, Jane admired the merry yellow and orange flames that danced in its confines. Then, remembering her purpose, she turned her attention to the occupied armchair close to the fire.

The woman was hunched over, peering at cards laid out in neat rows on the small tea table before her. The occasional burst of flame revealed a detail or two of her appearance at a time; the only discernible garment was a battered black cloak which concealed anything else. The hood was drawn forward, so that no facial features could be seen. Jane permitted herself a smile at the mystification before her. No doubt, the impressionable young women, bred on _Udolpho_[1], that came before her were caught in this spell and panicked. Her own sense told her that one needed more than masterful theatrics to be a prophetess.

"Come hither, m'lady," a voice came from under the hood. It was not unpleasant, and yet it sounded rather unnatural and forced, like a poor attempt at ventriloquism. Jane obeyed and took a seat across the table from the crone.

"Well, what d'ye want t'know?" the pile of cloak inquired, presumably studying Jane's appearance.

"Whatever you care to tell me," came the cheerful answer.

"Ye don't sound eager at all – don't ye want t'know your future?"

"I will know my future – when I live to see it."

"Ah, but don't ye want t'know now?" The gypsy sounded curious.

"Not particularly. Especially as all of your clients tonight looked rather put out with what you told them. If I am to be lied to, let it be cheery; at the very least, that will raise my spirits."

The shapeless crone let out a hoarse peal of laughter – almost in spite of herself, it seemed.

"Tis hard ter work with sech a skeptical subject!" she said, restored to previous state of calm. "But I'll try – and I'll persuade ye yet. Give me yer hand."

Jane gave a complacent little sigh and stretched out her hand, palm up. The gypsy ran her fingers over it expertly. Jane suddenly felt the intense heat radiating from the open flame nearby and wondered what became of the screen.

"A fine lady," she heard the crone say, "a gracious and fine lady. She'll bring much honor and joy to the one she chooses."

Jane arched her brow.

"Indeed? And by honor and joy you must mean my dowry, no doubt."

Another peal of laughter resounded.

"Ye know, fair lady, that not all the riches of this earth can buy happiness. He who sold his soul for thirty thousand pounds knows no more joy than Judas, who benefited from thirty silver pieces."

"A strange comment from a gypsy! I am still waiting for your demand of payment… However, you must earn it. Tell me something – so that I may have more faith in you."

"Gladly I will. I can tell ye much – things that ye know, but won't see. I can tell you of a hope that flickers, but won't be allowed to erupt into flame."

"What? A riddle? Can't I have something more defined?" Jane was vastly amused. Of course, a steady stream of double meaning will flow now.

"You must permit that flame to burn; you must give it air. Otherwise, you shall never be warm in your cold, lonely world – for that is where you dwell!"

Jane was taken aback. She felt as if she was intermittently plunged into a strange dream and plucked out into reality. The heat was making her hear things – the gypsy was quite without the rustic country accent now and spoke with great feeling. What was happening? She brushed her free hand across her forehead. Seconds ticked by…

Then, moved by a sudden suspicion, Jane turned her hand – the one in gypsy's grasp – so as to get a hold of the gypsy's hand and turned it so that its back was visible. A ring, set with a very familiar stone glistened on one of the fingers. Jane lifted her eyes and saw the master of the house remove the all-concealing hood.

"Well done, Miss Graham," he said, sounding a little hoarse. Jane supposed he strained his voice to make it appear a little feminine. "None of my other… clients, for lack of a better term, had any idea." His voice was solemn, but his eyes twinkled merrily. Jane suddenly noticed that he still held her hand. She rose, snatching it out of his grasp abruptly, still unable to speak.

"I do hope I haven't offended you," Rochester said, watching Jane carefully.

"No, not at all. You just startled me, that is all… It does seem so obvious – you did not return with the others, and the ladies who saw you before myself were at a loss to know how you knew so much about them…" Jane was quickly regaining her composure and sense of humor. "But did you really have to disappoint _all _of them?"

"They sought an honest answer," her host chuckled. "It isn't my fault that my honest answer tended to be negative."

"Who seeks an honest answer from a gypsy?"

"Not you, that is apparent… Well, how did you like my little charade?" He rose and came closer to Jane, who raised an eyebrow.

"I like it, but only because I was prudent. Had I lapsed into sentimentality, I should be very vexed with you for leading me on." She could not help smiling.

"Ah, but you are prudence itself, Miss Graham. It is not in the power of a mere mortal to rob you of your sense."

"I hope so." Jane sensed his intense gaze – it felt as if he was looking at all of her at once – body, soul and mind. She clasped her hands together – why did it feel so… _oh_! Finally, her brain seized a topic to babble inconsequentially about.

"Mr. Rochester, I suppose you've been informed about your guest, Mr. Mason?"

Whatever reaction Jane anticipated, it wasn't this. His face became white before she could blink. A stunned gasp escaped his lips and, for the briefest moment, terror was easily legible in his eyes.

"Forgive me," he said, shaking his head as if to ward off an annoying insect. "I wasn't expecting his visit, that is all." They both glanced down at their hands – the gentleman had snatched one of Jane's hands unconsciously, it seemed. Jane did not object – she could see how desperately he needed to hold on to someone – but why?

"I shan't detain you further," he finally spoke, releasing her hand with great reluctance. "Good night."

"Good night," Jane answered and made for the door. The last thing she heard was a bell to summon a servant.

[1]Refers to Ann Radcliffe's _The Mysteries of Udolpho_, a classic 1794 Gothic novel.


	10. Chapter 10

10

I apologize. Hopefully, this was worth waiting for. But my second year of university approaches, so I'm giving you a fair warning – updates may become rare. However, I am determined to finish this story. Feedback is always welcome! [wink]

Jane did not rejoin the company in the drawing room. She doubted that anyone would miss her; if she did go, they would be sure to question her. How to respond to questioning, she did not know. It would be hard to keep a straight face – by now, when her mind was clear, she thought the incident was rather diverting. And Mr. Rochester did not authorize her to reveal the charade, so it would be inadvisable to chance a conversation with anyone just now. Later, she might tell Mr. Osborne in strictest confidence – he would find the episode exceedingly amusing.

Sleep did not come easily that night. It didn't help that Jane forgot to draw the curtains, and moonlight illuminated the room rather brightly. After what seemed like hours, the young woman concluded that sleep was to be given up on. She dressed, resuming a gown she wore that night, and resolved to go down to the library for a bit of light reading.

It was not to be. As soon as she touched the doorknob, a piercing scream reverberated – apparently all through the house. Jane's blood ran cold. She had never heard anything quite so dreadful in her life. The sound of doors flying open followed. The rest of the guests were trying to determine the source of the commotion. Taking a deep breath, Jane quietly slipped out into the hall.

A large assembly was gathered in the hallway, which seemed narrower when filled so densely. No one seemed to know what happened, and everyone was talking at once. Jane found Mr. Osborne, who raised a quizzical eyebrow on account of her being fully dressed.

A booming voice announced the arrival of the master of the house. Despite the general alarm, Jane was rather amused by the crowd of fully grown men and women rush towards Mr. Rochester like a flock of frightened sheep to a shepherd. She stood by the door to her bedchamber, surveying the scene – and Mr. Rochester in particular.

"All is right, all is right," he was heard speaking with a laugh in his voice. "I beg you all to calm yourselves. Nothing whatsoever is amiss. A servant has had a nightmare and is now taken ill. Please return to your rooms – once I've seen you settled I can send for help."

He answered a few questions from the troubled guests; Mrs. Dent seemed to be offering help. Person by person, the group dissolved, gone off to their beds and slumber.

"Yes, Uncle Freddy, I shall go back presently," Jane said with a smile to a retreating Mr. Osborne. She was in no hurry, however; having seen her chaperone to the door, she turned to face her host with a quizzical look.

"Has the servant had these spells before?" she asked.

"Let us say this is not the first occurrence of the sort, Miss Graham," he responded wearily. Then, after half a minute deliberation, he spoke again.

"Miss Graham, I must impose on you for assistance. May I?"

"Certainly, sir. I am at your disposal."

"I must ask you to follow me into the sickroom. I will go to fetch a doctor, but I can't trust anyone else to sit with the patient… and be discreet about it."

"Is there anything needed I could bring along?"

"A sponge and smelling salts, if you have them."

Jane did. After a quick detour into her bedroom for the required items, she followed Mr. Rochester. He led her upstairs. Jane felt atmosphere change acutely; it was colder up here, but there was something else. This cold seeped into the soul. The hallway they were going along had an uninhabited look about it.

They stopped before a door which Mr. Rochester unlocked with quick, nervous movements. The chamber beyond was dark, save a flickering candle on a small table beside an enormous bed. Jane gasped when she saw the occupant, who appeared to be unconscious.

"Mr. Mason!" Her astonished eyes met Mr. Rochester's and all questions died before being born. He looked as though he had had enough worries just then. There was fatigue in his eyes – not just lack of sleep, but something deeper and more troubling. There was anger also; it smoldered just beneath the surface. Jane thought it best not to provoke him just then.

With swift motions he took the smelling salts she had brought and moved the vial from side to side close to the patient's nose. Mr. Mason came back with a start, which only served to make him wince. Jane, who had a closer look at him by then, noticed the likely source of his pain. His shirt showed some blood seeping from right above his heart.

"Rochester!" he exclaimed, shivering. Whether it was from a chill or the terror in his eyes, Jane couldn't tell. "Rochester, where is _she_?"

"Not a word, Dick," the master replied with unprecedented harshness. "I am off to fetch the doctor. Miss Graham here has kindly agreed to keep you company. Rest assured you are safe, as long as –" his eyes glinted with fiery intensity – "as long as you do not say a word to this lady."

Jane looked at Mr. Rochester with a questioning look. He gave her a glance which was meant to be reassuring, but looked rather pained.

"I shan't be long," he said quietly. Jane wondered whom he addressed.

When he left, the woman began sponging the patient's forehead. Mr. Mason closed his eyes; breathing seemed to pain him. Jane felt better by the minute – the warm flicker of the candle gave her confidence, and Mr. Mason wasn't looking at her any longer. She couldn't explain why his gaze was making her so anxious. Perhaps it was her usual dislike of strangers. In any case, she had to keep her mind on her task. Mr. Rochester – and this poor man before her – needed her. But what had happened to this gentleman?

Now that she had calmed down, Jane wondered what took place here. The room showed no signs of a fight, and Mr. Rochester didn't look like a man who had just fought someone. He _couldn't_ have caused this. But what could?

_Thump!_

Jane and Mason both jumped. Jane gasped; as for her charge, the man's eyes bulged out in horror. With a struggled "_She_!" he collapsed on the bed, unconscious.

All that Jane knew for certain was the location of the sound. It came from a second door that she paid no heed to up to now. Presently, she rose and approached it. The door was kept shut by a thick wooden bar and a heavy metal lock. Jane was hoping that lack of sleep was producing the scratching noises that seemed to seep through the aged wood.

How she lived to see the faint gray of dawn she never knew. Mr. Rochester's footsteps could not have been more welcome. Jane rose from the chair as he came in. He gave Mason a quick glance and, satisfied that the doctor he had brought busied himself with the man, led the woman out onto the landing.

"Miss Graham, there are no words to convey my gratitude."

"Not at all; I was glad to be of service. I do hope he'll be all right."

"Mason? Oh, Carter'll pull him through, have no fear. I am more concerned about you – you haven't slept at all."

"That isn't the first time, but thank you." She gave him a small, tired smile and hurried downstairs. There were a few precious hours before breakfast.


	11. Chapter 11

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The next day, most of the party had dispersed, and Jane was herself again after a solid night's sleep. Mr. Osborne was only too happy – he was quite worried about her yesterday. Insomnia or not, she was agitated and restless, spending the entire day walking in the grounds. Frederick supposed that her sleep was disturbed by unhappy memories. When his father died, he had nightmares for a year, and Jane, a sensitive and impressionable nature, had a strong bond with her mother. Taking her away from the places where they spent so much time together may have spared her a worse ordeal. He hoped so, at any rate.

Mr. Osborne had another hope, as well. He wished for an attachment between his favorite kinswoman and one of his oldest friends. He had already written to Jane's father on the subject. Henry had no objections. Rochester was rich, well connected and came of a reasonably noble stock; even without a peerage, an ancestor of his had served Queen Mary herself[1]. Despite being a rather cold and distant father on the surface, Lord Graham loved his children, all the more after the death of his wife. He had always been aware that Jane was not destined for a brilliant match unless she truly attached herself to anyone who could be considered a brilliant match. Caroline was more of a belle – now there he could hope for a grand connection. So the possibility of such an alliance for his eldest thrilled him.

Jane, blissfully unaware of these plans for her future, was not having an easy day. Although her mother's death was still tormenting her, there was another subject on her mind. Oh, if she could write to her mother! To ask her the questions that burned in her heart and disturbed her soul!

What was it like to be in love?

What did one do with all these sensations?

Jane sighed. She was one of the best-read women of her circle. But books did not answer these questions.

She dutifully bid adieu to the departing in the entrance hall. It so happened that she stood between Uncle Freddy and Mr. Rochester. It felt strange – standing where the mistress of the house would have stood. No one else seemed aware of it.

She was mistaken in that respect.

Frederick was very much aware of it. He felt that they looked very natural standing in that fashion. It was what he wished. If only Edward was conscious of it… But he seemed oblivious to anything but being civil just then.

He was mistaken in that respect.

Edward was acutely aware of the woman to his right. It seemed inherently natural that she should stand in the traditional place of the wife. She belonged there – and here, in his home and heart and life. It took him so long to find Her, the woman who could regenerate his humanity. He had searched fruitlessly all over the world with no clear idea of what he was looking for until he found it. In a London drawing room, of all the places!

The last guest was gone. The three remaining inhabitants of the manor withdrew to the drawing room. Jane was working on a piece of embroidery, while Mr. Osborne struck up a conversation with the host.

"I mean to go to Mr. Lennox for dinner tonight. He is an old schoolmate of mine, and I did not realize he had a house in the neighborhood, but he does and has written to invite me. A confirmed bachelor, you know – needs some company, but is certain to bore Jane to death."

"Miss Graham is welcome to stay behind," Edward replied with warmth.

"What say you, my Jane?"

"I'd much rather stay, Uncle Freddy. I'll only be in your way of amusing yourself with your friend."

Frederick nodded. After a long friendship with Edward, he had no qualms about leaving Jane alone with him. Who knew, it may give them time to get better acquainted… he wasn't matchmaking, just helping fate along. At least that was the way he saw it.

Osborne departed in the early hours of the evening. Jane and her host were in the drawing room in front of a merry fire with a tea tray on a little table between them. Edward relished Jane's conversation skills. She was an appreciative listener with an ear for detail. Her comments and responses were always natural and fresh, as well as witty. He had never met a female so deserving of being called accomplished. And so reserved! Well, he supposed it was high time that reserve was tested a little.

"What did you think of local society? Did you find it dull?"

"Not at all – quite amusing, in fact. I've met Mrs. Dent before and have always found her to be an excellent woman. Mrs. Eshton seemed very affable, and her daughters were quite pleasant."

"And Lord Ingram?"

Jane laughed.

"Yes… I must say, with his opportunities to acquaint himself with the world, he is familiar with a rather narrow spectrum of things. He attempted to sound knowledgeable in music and failed miserably."

"Poor Ingram – you do set high standards… Did you not befriend his sisters?"

Did Jane just give him a sharp glance?

"Ah… now… I believe our characters are too different… They do not care for books, and I – for dancing… or singing. I am singularly devoid of musical talent, you know. My sister is much superior to me in that respect."

"Well, well, no one can excel at everything – you do paint and draw beautifully, Miss Graham."

Jane allowed herself a small smile.

"Miss Blanche Ingram is said to play delightfully, you know."

There could be no doubt – Jane did send him a sharp glance this time!

"But I can tell you that her picking up crayons or brushes results in disaster."

"Does it?" in a curious tone.

"And her singing voice… well, I've heard magpies with more sense of melody."

"Ah, you are much too severe, I'm sure you are!" But Jane couldn't help laughing merrily along with Mr. Rochester. It was so easy to laugh with him!

After dinner, which passed in a similarly friendly conversation, they returned to the drawing room. Mr. Rochester entertained Jane with some tales of his travels until she rose and wished him good night.

_Is that how a marriage can be?_ Edward wondered. _A mutually satisfying union of two people with similar views and interests, who are capable of a civilized conversation in front of a warm fire?_ It was impossibly attractive, this scene of family life, unmarred by… well…

Jane thought the evening rather interesting. His references to Blanche puzzled her. At times, he sounded admiring, and at others – derisive. And the way he sometimes looked at her, Jane, that evening confused her even more. If she could only _understand_.

She went to sleep in utter confusion.

Barely two hours later, a loud clap of thunder woke her up. Jane rose off her bed and approached the window. A terrible thunderstorm was raging on the other side of the glass. Shivering – she never liked storms – she made to return to bed and try to go back to sleep. Something, however, stopped her in her tracks.

Something was scratching at her door.

[1] Believe it or not, Queen Mary Tudor (also known as Bloody Mary) really did have a Robert Rochester in her household. I accidentally came across this fact while reading a biography of her. Let me know if you want information on the book – it's outstanding if you are interested in the subject.


	12. Chapter 12

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At first, Jane had thought it was the dog. Mr. Rochester was rather fond of him, but usually locked him up in the study for the night. So what could it be?

Before the question died in her head, Jane saw and heard two things that made her shiver.

A thin line of light shone through the crack between the door and the floor.

And a hollow, chilling laugh came from the hall, very reminiscent of the one she had heard but a week ago.

Then came the shuffling footsteps that seemed to sorrowfully drift away.

What was she to do?

Unable to question herself any longer, Jane took up her shawl and resolutely threw it around her shoulders. She turned the doorknob and soundlessly slipped into the hallway.

It was dark there, very dark. And cold. Jane shivered, clutching her shawl closer. What was she even looking for? She didn't know. Looking around, she could see nothing suspicious, until her eyes strayed in the direction of the ornately carved door that guarded the entrance to Mr. Rochester's bedroom. Two things were evident to her immediately; the door was slightly open and there was a quantity of smoke billowing out. Before she could give the matter too much thought, Jane dashed through the doorway.

The scene that met her eyes made her stop in the doorway for a brief moment. The large room was dominated by an ancient-looking bed, the curtains of which were _ablaze_.

Jane did not have time to deliberate. She found the washbasin and deftly emptied the pitcher's contents onto the flame. It seemed to make no difference whatsoever.

"Mr. Rochester! Wake up! Please wake up!" she yelled, her voice hoarse with the smoke. The man stirred, opened his eyes groggily and stared at her in utter amazement. Jane felt she couldn't blame him. Unable to speak, she pointed at the flames. His eyes followed her finger and widened still further. Moments later, he was beside her, tearing the flaming curtains down. Understanding dawning in Jane's eyes, she helped him best she could. The flames, once so violently bright, dimmed and died under their combined efforts. As soon as it became safe to do so, Mr. Rochester threw a velvet robe on and opened one of the windows to let the smoke out.

"What has happened?" he asked, turning to face Jane, who was feeling a little shaken. She related her experience as concisely as she could. His brows knitted; he looked deep in thought.

"I see," he said once she finished. "Miss Graham, I must investigate this matter further. Please, take a seat and do not leave this room." Watching her obey his request, he lit a candle on his bedside table with the one she came in with and placed it on a small rectangular table beside the armchair she took.

"I shan't be long," were his parting words.

How long was he gone? Jane had lost her sense of time in all the strain of this eventful night. Her nerves were stretched – what if she hadn't been awake? If it hadn't been for the thunder… She had now noticed that the thunderstorm had abated and the rain stopped. A bird was singing on a branch of a nearby tree. A pleasant breeze cooled her flushed face, calming her down. In fact, she might have dozed off, had the inhabitant of the room not returned.

"All is well," he said, setting his candle down. "There will be no more disturbances. Are you quite well, Miss Graham? You are pale – have you not slept at all?"

"I am quite well, thank you," Jane said with a weak but sincere smile. "I just had a very… unusual experience tonight, that is all. Have you discovered who did it, sir?" Her eyes watched him in quiet concern.

"Yes, I have," he answered. "Let it not worry you; the… culprit has been caught and dealt with." Mr. Rochester's tone allowed no questions.

"Very well; I ought to return to my room in that case," Jane said pleasantly, rising from her seat and drawing her shawl further on her shoulders. Mr. Rochester made a few hasty steps to approach her.

"Not before I've had a chance to thank you." He came closer still and, before Jane had any idea of his intentions, took one of her hands into both of his.

"I can never thank you enough, my cherished preserver," he said in a tone which Jane had never heard him use before. It was the gentlest, most tender address she had ever received from a man. In it, soft admiration mingled with respect and gratitude, creating an irresistible maelstrom of feeling. "You saved me from a terrible fate – I could never express what I feel in this moment."

"Why, Mr. Rochester," Jane said, aware of a rosy tinge on her cheeks "this really is extravagant praise. I should think anyone would do the same in my place." She was deeply conscious of his hands enveloping one of hers and felt it could go on no longer. Gently disentangling herself, she smiled.

"Good night, sir."

"Good night, my…" She thought it was only her imagination; in any case, the sheer impropriety of the proceedings dawned on her and she made a hasty retreat, feeling his gaze on her back until leaving the room entirely.

In the morning, Jane was shocked to see Mr. Osborne ride up to the house in the same suit he wore to last night's dinner out. She had assumed that his absence at the breakfast table was a compensation for a very late night in the company of his friend. However, as she descended to the ground floor and found him in the drawing room with the host, the true state of matters was revealed to her.

Osborne did stay with his friend until very late at night – so late, in fact that the thunderstorm which so luckily woke Jane up was what alerted them of the hour. As a horseback journey in such inclement weather was unthinkable, he had to stay the night and departed only after breakfast. He related a few amusing anecdotes and asked jovially whether they were so very bored in his absence.

Jane only smiled. She had decided to allow Mr. Rochester answer that one on his own. He made no mention of the fire, and so neither would she. After all, there was much she did not understand about the incident. Who was responsible? Why was there no sign of investigation or punishment?

And what did Mr. Rochester's behavior to her last night mean?


	13. Chapter 13

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Thank you for your kind opinions – they mean the world to me. A fair word of warning; college starts on Thursday. Updates may once again be on once every two weeks basis. I do not plan on abandoning this story – it will be seen to the end. Don't forget to review!

No matter how long she lived, Jane would never forget June the eleventh.

It began with her and Uncle Freddy sitting in the drawing room waiting for breakfast. Mr. Rochester was in his study with a tenant who came on business. Frederick had broached the subject of returning Jane to her father in London. She agreed. It has been far too long since she had been with her family. Carrie and Robert were never out from under her wing before. Just as they were discussing the possibility of leaving within a week, a butler came in with a letter on a silver tray.

"For Mr. Osborne," he said, holding the tray at the convenient height for the gentleman to take the envelope. Mr. Osborne took it and nodded to dismiss the man. After looking the letter over, he rose, obviously troubled, and told Jane to stay where she was. And then he left.

A few minutes later startled Jane saw him return, accompanied by Mr. Rochester. Both looked somber.

"Jane, my dear," Frederick spoke, approaching her and placing a hand on her shoulder. "Jane, my love… your father… he died in his sleep…"

* * *

Four days later, Jane stood in the formal drawing room in her father's – Robert's now – London home. It was full to bursting with all the Graham connections – noble families had gathered to pay respects to the body of the lord and the three orphans. Lord Graham was buried already. It was known that Mr. Osborne was appointed the guardian of all the assets until Robert was of age. Even with all the help he could expect, the new Lord Graham looked lost. That was natural – he lost both parents in the space of several months.

When the ceremonial phrases were dispersed with, the crowd began to thin. Jane groaned when the door was at last shut on the last stranger. Mlle Guisot took the younger children away, and Jane was left with Mr. Osborne for company. She smiled at him wearily.

"Thank you, dear Uncle. I could have never managed on my own." She chose a chair by the window and looked down onto the street, where the last carriages were leaving in a procession.

"Not at all, my dear child," Frederick replied. "God knows I love you and the little ones as my own. I couldn't leave you to face the vultures alone."

"Thank you all the same. I cannot tell you how much your help means to us – Robert is so young…"

"I will do what I can."

"I know, Uncle dear."

Frederick put his arms around the frail girl as she sobbed.

* * *

Time heals.

A year has passed since Jane Graham became an orphan.

A long, painful year of fulfilling a woman's duties – being a hostess, sitting across the table from her brother.

She was so proud of him. Barely fifteen at his accession to the title, he supported her in everything. Now, at sixteen, he hosted dinners with her. Naturally, he was too young to take up his father's friends and connections, so the dinners boasted mainly family and friends. But that did not matter. Jane knew that, in good time, he would take his place in society.

No, her concern was not Robert at all.

It was a cousin through her mother's family.

Jane met John Reed right before her mother's death. She disliked him on sight – he looked rather self-assured. His aim seemed to be to get into her good graces. The reason did not become clear until six months later.

John Reed proposed.

Frederick Osborne laughed himself silly when Jane told him. The presumption was rather astonishing – for a gentleman of no excessive standing to aspire to be connected to a peer of England! Jane refused him as graciously as she could, of course, but he did not relent paying her rather annoying little attentions.

Mr. Osborne still had another man's interest at heart as well. He continuously passed the respective news of Jane and Edward to the other, insidiously keeping them fresh in each other's thoughts. Little he knew that that was not a concern. They both thought of one another frequently. In May 1837, Edward issued an invitation to Frederick to spend some time on his estate, hinting that other guests woild be just as welcome. Carrie and Robert were staying at the Osbornes' summer home with Frederick's wife Edith, while Jane was planning to go to the Grahams' country seat. Frederick easily changed her mind.

Which is why, early that June, they were alighting from a carriage in the Thornfield courtyard.

* * *

Jane relished the gardens of the estate as much as the first time. Unoccupied by other guests, Mr. Rochester gave her extensive tours of the property while Frederick chose a solitary sojourn in the library.

Jane also got better acquainted with little Adele, who still lived there. She had a feeling that the girl's governess was unnecessarily strict. Therefore, she spent quite a bit of time in Adele's company, giving her a bit of gentle affection the child so obviously craved. Jane noticed Mr. Rochester pass by on occasion, his eyes shrewdly watching them.

She had not forgotten the feelings which assaulted her a year ago; if anything, they had returned with a new vigor. She liked the company of the master of the house – everything about him fascinated and charmed her. But her feelings were not reciprocated. The few meaningful glances that passed between them all those months ago did not return. He was friendly and attentive and that was that.

Jane could not have been more mistaken. Edward admired her as much and more than ever before. The deep dejection of sorrow had passed for the most part and, unfettered by society, Jane looked her best that June. Her pale complexion gained a little color and, clad in light summer dresses, she looked radiant in the warm sunshine. No, he was as much in love with her as he had the capacity to be; he was simply resolving his last doubts and laying his last plans. He found that only one course of action was open to him and, independently from the rest of the world, he had considered it to be right.

A fortnight after his guests' arrival, he had decided to act.

It was a glorious afternoon, filled with sunshine. He took Jane on one of their long strolls in the grounds. Their conversation began with the recent royal development[1], then shifted to Mr. Dickens' latest[2]. Little by little, Jane slipped into an easy, lighthearted mood.

"I must thank you particularly for removing to the country, Mr. Rochester. I shudder to think what's going on in London – I wanted to go to Howell in July."

"Not at all – and you may still go, even though it is my object to enjoy the honor of your company as long as I may."

She laughed.

"Do not tease. I am but an awkward girl who reads decidedly too much. See? Nothing to bestow honor."

"Allow me to disagree."

"I suppose we are all entitled to our own opinions," she conceded. Their eyes met. Her face suddenly grew very serious.

_Now._

Edward slowly took both of her hands in his own. It suddenly occurred to him that today was Midsummer's Eve.

[1] Queen Victoria succeeded to the throne on June the twentieth, 1837.

[2] Oliver Twist was serially published in February 1837.


	14. Chapter 14

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Thank you for reviewing! I am very nervous about this chapter, because it's the first truly romantic scene I've ever written. Let me know how it is!

Jane's breath caught in her throat. She had never been in a position such as this. Mr. Rochester was holding both of her hands and watching her reaction with an earnest look in his eyes. They were standing in the shade of the chestnut tree, where she had passed so many solitary hours last year. Where she had spoken to Miss Davis about the ghostly sounds that could be heard in the house… why is she thinking of those things now?

"Miss Graham," the gentleman spoke as softly and tenderly as he could, "I must permit myself to tell you of my sincere and deep admiration for you. You have many qualities which I prize above others – and you are one of very few women I know to possess them. From the very earliest period of our acquaintance, my feelings for you only strengthened. Will you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife?"

Jane gazed at him in shock. Whatever she may have expected him to say, it wasn't this. This second proposal of her life was a great improvement upon the first.

"You must know that only respect for your recent loss held me from saying this last year," Mr. Rochester continued. "Your mother died too recently – and then your father. I felt it would be unforgivable to burden you with such sentiments when all you needed was calm support of a friend."

"Mr. Rochester," Jane said softly, "I wouldn't consider your sentiments burdensome. I find them… very, very welcome. And mutual," she added, with warmth flooding her voice and cheeks. "But you have acted rather reprehensibly despite your evident delicacy in the matter. What have you done to poor Miss Ingram?"

"Miss Ingram? Why are you thinking of her?" The expression on Mr. Rochester's face changed from a hopeful to dismayed one comically fast.

"Why, you gave her reason to hope, didn't you? I _saw_ you," Jane said, chuckling. "You did not discourage her, in any case."

"Yes, I did," Edward protested with an indulgent smile. "Do you remember my gypsy charade? I told her that she was mighty mistaken in the estimation of her object's material wealth. She took the hint rather handsomely."

"Indeed? Well… and was she?"

"What?"

"Mistaken?"

"I wouldn't know," the gentleman replied with an air of indifference marked with nervousness. "I do not know how rich she thought I was… but, Miss Graham, I asked you a question."

"Did you?" Jane inquired, innocence incarnate. "I suppose I better answer it after all, seeing as you are not to be distracted. I would be honored to accept your proposal. I am certain that I couldn't find a more stimulating companion if I tried."

They laughed in unison. Both felt _at home_ in each other's company. Little by little, mirth subsided, as they simply gazed into each other's eyes. Slowly, something new was illuminating Edward's eyes – it was stronger than respect, love or admiration. Jane's spine tingled as his hands shifted to encircle her waist. A feeling of warm security – and other, more powerful feelings filled her as Edward lowered his head to kiss her – so softly and gently!

Mr. Osborne was delighted. This was just what he hoped would happen. It was a perfect match from any standpoint. The union of a rich gentleman and a peeress must be a reason to rejoice. Neither of them was lowering themselves in this marriage. And, of course, their tempers and minds were made for one another.

A week after the engagement took place, he escorted Jane to Howell, where his wife had already arrived with the younger Grahams. Edith was overjoyed by the news. Both the bride and the groom-to-be wanted a quiet ceremony, so no announcement was made. As it had only been a year since Jane's parents died, the discretion was supposed to be the right course to choose.

Jane was happy – deliriously so. She had never contemplated being married or, indeed, engaged – as a certainty. Her heart sang with the joy of it. She wanted nothing more from life.

The marriage ceremony was set for August the third. That gave Jane the time to acquaint all the necessary people with the development – her siblings, for one – and to order what trousseau she would deem inevitable. Edward had talked her into a tour of Europe, so she set off planning a wardrobe.

Nothing could cloud that joy.

Despite the general consensus of keeping the affair as private as possible, Jane received congratulations from the most unexpected sources. Fanny Granville, cousin to the previously rejected Neville, graced her with a disgustingly sweet epistle, which implied that Jane settled to be a country housewife instead of retaining her status in society. Neville was the more gracious relative, having sent a friendly note which glowed with his warm wishes.

But no one could match Frederick's happiness. He was now satisfied that his little Jane would be well settled and looked after without having to live with the humiliation of being a spinster. He couldn't bear society's pity being bestowed upon her. And then, when Robert chose a wife, Jane would no longer have a place in her own home. It was bound to happen quite naturally, and there would be nothing to alter the situation.

On the evening of their arrival to Howell, Frederick remembered that he had a letter to reply to. It arrived a week and a half ago, but Jane's news drove it entirely from his mind. Reply it he wished to, as the author evoked a certain curiosity within him. They would no doubt only deepen the mutual regard which sprang from a very short acquaintance via regular correspondence.

He descended the grand staircase and entered the drawing room. Edith and Jane sat huddled on the sofa, sewing in hand. They were discussing Carrie's coming out in two years – at seventeen. Jane was just remarking that her younger sister was bound to enjoy being out more than she herself did.

"Carrie is more of a belle than you are, my love," Edith was remarking as Frederick made his way to the writing desk. "But she is a good girl. She will not be any trouble, I know."

"She'll have scores of beaux, that one," Frederick remarked cheerfully. He was fond of the girl, just not as much as of her elder sister.

The women laughed, Edith exclaiming "For shame, Frederick!" The atmosphere was very homey.

Frederick turned to the desk. He took up the topmost sheet of stationery, stamped with the Graham coat of arms and began his letter. It couldn't wait, not now that he had such glorious news to share.

_Dear Mr. Mason,_ he wrote.


	15. Chapter 15

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Here I go again. Thank you for commenting, it always makes my day to read those! Tell me what you think of this chapter!

August the third dawned – a day filled with sunshine. The world was in that rare state when the morning appears as not only the beginning of a new day, but of an era or a universe. The air itself was clean and sweet, and the birds sang with abandon. It was a day destined for joy.

Jane, who woke up customarily early, was as radiant as the sun which would illuminate her path to wifehood. She felt calm and confident, assured of the righteousness of her choice. There would never be – could never be – any man who loved her more sincerely, to whom she could attach herself so permanently and to whom she could be more equal in every respect. Jane felt that everything that happened today had to have been preordained long before her birth.

She arrived at Thornfield three days ago, accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. Osborne. Lady Clara Granville, her paternal aunt, was already there. Her daughter Fanny decided against attending (much to Jane's relief). So that was the extent of her guests. A private ceremony they wanted, and a private ceremony they would have.

Why Lady Granville – Aunt Clara – wished to come was anybody's guess. Edith thought it was to make trouble; the proud woman still resented Jane for refusing her sister-in-law's son. That was why Edith resolved to keep a strict eye on her, ensuring that little Jane's wedding wasn't ruined by anybody's vindictiveness.

But enough dwelling on that – it's such a happy day! Edith caught herself almost _skipping _on her way to help Jane dress. Really, she should be old enough to be trusted not to do that…

Frederick is in Jane's room, talking to her softly. He is the closest thing to a father she has now. _Poor dear._ Edith recalls the sweet Jane Reed she met so long ago, and the stately Henry, whom she had known all her life. Her parents meant her to marry him – such an eligible young man – but she had met Freddy, and then he met Jane. They were always on the best of terms.

And now she has to do what she would have loved to see Jane – the elder – do. She shoos Frederick out – this is not for his eyes or ears. She steps to stand behind Jane's seated form, both of their reflections gazing back from the mirror.

"Well, my little love? Ready to change your name?" Edith smiles.

"I expect so, Auntie," Jane smiles back. "One does get bored with a name after a period."

"I suppose so," Edith replies good-naturedly. "Well, we don't have all day – I suggest we start."

The wedding gown which, according to Jane's very specific wishes, wasn't elaborate at all, took very little effort to put on. Edith stepped back to admire her work; Jane looked magnificent indeed. The gown was a warm cream color, with a wide lace collar and straps of matching lace sewn on top of the full skirt. Next were Jane Reed's pearl earrings and a string of pearls that was a wedding present from Jane's future husband.

Finally, Edith opened the armoire to retrieve the finishing touch – the white box which contained the veil. It had once belonged to the late Mrs. Rochester. Jane watched her aunt lift the lid… and freeze.

"Jane, my dear," Edith said slowly. "Do you know where the veil is?"

There was a brief moment of stunned silence. Jane rose and quickly moved to stand next to her friend. She looked down into the box.

It was empty.

"I thought Bessie told me she put it away after the fitting the night before last," Jane spoke, quite at a loss.

"I shall fetch her," Edith said, looking confused.

Minutes later, she was back, Bessie in tow. Bessie had joined the Graham household five years ago. She was a young girl of around twenty. Jane liked her general affability and, when she needed a personal attendant, it was invariably Bessie she called upon.

"Bessie, do you remember the night before last, when I asked you to pack away the veil after the fitting?" Jane asked gently. She would never suspect the girl of tampering with it, but the questions had to be asked.

"Yes, miss," Bessie replied, worried by Mrs. Osborne's stern look.

"Did you fold it and put it in the box?" Jane continued.

"No, miss – when I came, the box was closed. I thought you folded it and got distracted."

Jane could not blame Bessie. She frequently did things by herself, and the veil was light enough to make the difference in weight quite negligible.

"I shall simply make do without it, I suppose," she said cheerfully. A veil was a mere piece of clothing. And Jane refused to believe in ill omens.

She walks down in a cloud of lace, hastily provided by the housekeeper. Of course, he is waiting at the bottom of the stairs. His eyes take in her figure, as though for the first time. And when she steps off the bottommost step, he takes her hand from Frederick's, and she feels elation, such as she had never known before.

They decided to walk to the church, as the day was so fine. On the way, Jane answered Edward's somewhat amused question – did she confuse her wedding veil with a curtain? She laughed – because that is all she felt like doing – and told him of the veil's odd disappearance.

Unfortunately – oddly – the mishap did not amuse him as much as her. Edward paled visibly and seemed to clutch her hand even tighter. Jane could only guess at this peculiarity.

They reached the church quickly. Along the way, they passed the very spot Mr. Rochester's horse chose to fall. Jane suppressed a smile, remembering the particulars of that evening. Oh, little did she know! She was but a Miss Graham then; she was Janet now, as every letter since their engagement confirmed. And he was Edward now – beloved husband, to whom she was to vow eternity.

The church is pleasantly cool. Narrow windows allow only slits of light to come through. Rows of pews greet those entering – generation upon generation have sat on them, watching children baptized and marry. Jane knows which one she would occupy soon enough. She and Edward had already agreed against spending more time in London than was strictly necessary.

The only thing amiss is the absence of Carrie and Robert. They are both about to go to their respective schools. Jane did not wish to burden them with another journey just now. She received loving letters of congratulations from both.

The priest was waiting for the small party with a satisfied, happy look on his face. Jane had seen this man in the pulpit as well as at a few of Thornfield dinners and felt that she could be very comfortable in his company.

Mr. Wood the parson proceeded to recite the customary service in measured steady tone. Jane could feel the eyes of the small congregation focus on her. It did not affect her as it would have normally, however; Edward's presence and his strong hand which encased hers acted as a shield from any sensation unrelated to joy. In these moments, the feeling of joy grew so strong, in fact, that Jane was startled and almost frightened by its magnitude. Surely, this heady emotion was not – could not be – allowed.

Several moments of content, self-assured silence had passed after the priest requested all objections to the marriage to be brought forth. No one ever dreamed that there could be any.

Until two shadows, unnoticed in their gloomy corner, had moved forward, that is.


	16. Chapter 16

16

Thanks for reading and reviewing! Hope you enjoy this chapter.

When one reads of shadows in a novel, they are generally described as mysterious, foreboding and surreptitious. At least that was what Jane had thought. These two shadows, however, were anything but. They hurried into the midst of the small crowd of people congregated around the couple, and the leaner of the two spoke. Jane was very surprised to find that his companion was none other than Mr. Mason. She had only time to think _it's nice to see that he healed so well_ before the sound and meaning of the speaker reached her brain.

"I have proof that this marriage cannot proceed," he said. "It is an illegal and sacrilegious act."

There was a pause. Nobody seemed to know how to react. Wood blinked a few times. Then all eyes converged on Edward. Jane, as the one standing closest to him, had a better opportunity of reading his face.

At first, there wasn't anything to read. Just lips, tightly pressed together – a clear sign of defiance. As seconds of silence drifted by, he turned slowly to face the speaker. He seemed to completely ignore Mason's presence for the moment.

"Who are you, sir," he asked, "to pass such a harsh judgment on such a private everyday act as marriage?"

"My name is Briggs, sir, and I represent this gentleman, whom you may remember as Mr. Mason. I am here to remind you that it is unseemly for a married man to enter a second union when his wife still lives."

The silence, which had hence been awkward, turned icy. Jane could see Edith stifle a gasp, Frederick take a step forward and Clara fan herself furiously with a handkerchief. Edward had made another bid to take control of the proceedings.

"A married man?" he asked with a hint of politely bored interest. "Are you saying I'm married already?"

"Precisely, sir," Briggs nodded gravely. "I have here an affidavit of Mr. Mason's, corroborated by his parish priest and a magistrate, that his sister, Bertha Antoinetta Mason became Bertha Rochester fifteen years ago." This made Jane glance at Mason, who stood, white-faced but resolute, beside the speaker.

The produced paper did not seem to make an ounce of impression on the accused. He stood ramrod-straight, and his grip on Jane's hand was, if anything, tighter still. He seemed to deliberate for some time, and then spoke.

"I see I am to be foiled, after all. What this man says is true; I am indeed married… but would Mr. Mason kindly describe his sister before blaming me of heinous acts?"

It was Frederick's turn to gasp, and all attention would have been his, had it not been for Wood, who broke the silence.

"It is all very well, but you can't be married, Mr. Rochester – you can't! I've never seen a woman at Thornfield since your mother died years ago."

"I took care you wouldn't, Wood," the man said. "She is not a prize to be paraded around in the world of men." Hearing a whimper, he turned around to face Mason. "What, Richard, am I wrong? Am I sullying your sister's good name? Does she even have one?"

Jane, whose hand was still in Edward's grasp, feverishly attempted to understand, but her heart resisted. Whatever could have gone wrong, this was so entirely unexpected and terrible that her whole nature rebelled against it, as if it were a nightmare from which she could wake up.

"My wife is mad," Edward continued, forcing Jane back into the frightening reality. "She was thrust upon me by the machinations of this worthy personage" - he pointed at Mason - "and his entire family. No one told me what dark secrets her mind concealed – and when I discovered them, it was too late… Come," he added gazing at Frederick, "you shall have proof. Come," he added, turning to face the bride, "come and see her."

"Frederick, surely…" Edith was cut off by a glance from her husband.

"Edith, take Lady Granville and go to your chambers," Frederick told her quietly and went off to catch up with Edward, Jane and the intruders.

"Wood!" Edward called from the threshold of the church, "come and meet the first lady of your parish!"

This group in no way resembled the one that entered the church less than half an hour ago. Everyone was hushed; tension hung in the air like a heavy black cloud. Jane, such a brilliant vision of a bride only moments ago, was pensive. She felt frozen, apathetic to what was taking place around her. The strongest feeling was the sensation of standing in the path of a tidal wave of pain. Any minute now the shock would wear off, and she would _feel_ that which had been done unto her. It terrified the woman and her greatest wish was for solitude. At least she could suffer in any manner she liked instead of being forced to maintain this questionably dignified façade.

The small company entered Thornfield Hall. It was a relief to step into the cool entrance hall. Up the grand staircase they went, higher and higher still. Now they were in a hallway Jane had entered only once, and, as they approached the apartment in which she tended to Mason, her mind began to connect the facts that had previously escaped her.

The woman was mad – _Miss Davis had heard maniacal laughter; I have too._ Mr. Rochester was almost frightened when I told him Mason was here – _he feared exposure._ The lady must have harmed Mason that night – _it was her I heard in the other room!_

Jane was not angry, as she knew her family must be. Aunt Clara would probably rave about this for a long time yet. She knew that the Osbornes would be kind to her; perhaps she'd stay with them a little while… no! She would go to Howell alone; her birthplace would heal her, as always. Roses and birdsong are just the thing for a broken heart…

But here was the room. Jane entered it with a sensation of familiarity; here was the bed and the washstand; the chair in which she had sat that dreadful night. And here was the door, still locked. What, did she expect it to be wide open? Foolish girl, so ready to embrace the possibility of happiness! Where was your good sense?

Mr. Rochester – this name returned to Jane's mind with cold finality in its wake, for that was all he could be to her now – unlocked the door. It was the first time he let go of her hand since the church; the woman took this opportunity to clasp her hands together. They only belonged to her now.

The group entered the next room. It was dark and dismal, with the air of a prison cell. An unkempt bed with crumpled sheets stood in a corner; a table, two chairs and a washstand were also present. One of the chairs was occupied by a stout woman dressed as a servant.

Mrs. Rochester was not readily apparent. She stood off to the side, half-crouched by a window. One couldn't tell for certain what she was staring at; Jane thought it was the carriage waiting down below. The carriage that will not whisk her off to her honeymoon.

The woman must have heard their entrance. Her posture straightened a little, and, so slowly that the movement was at first almost undetectable, she turned to face her visitors.

One could suppose that she was beautiful once. Her eyes were truly enormous and dark. They seemed to pierce the soul. She was tall and, had it not been for her disheveled hair and second-rate clothing, imposing. Everything that Jane could never be.

Her eyes were the warning to her condition. Despite being deep, they were oddly devoid of… anything. They held no message, no emotion… until the woman's gaze focused on her husband.

With a great roar, she lunged herself forward, hands above her head.


	17. Chapter 17

17

Thank you for your reviews – I really need encouragement as I get through these hard-to-write chapters. Please let me know what you think of this one.

Jane's usual steely self-possession nearly crumbled as she watched the husband – _not mine_ – wrestle his wife down onto the bed and, with the serving woman's help, tie her to it. The noises made by the unhappy wretch, Jane knew, would haunt her till her dying day.

"Well, gentlemen," Mr. Rochester spoke, "how do you like my wife?"

No one seemed to find the suitable words to reply.

"I have been… _married_ to her for fifteen years," he continued. "For fifteen years I have been denied a true companionship marriage can offer. You are married, Frederick. You entered that estate willingly_, _knowing who your wife is and what she is capable of. You come to her and you find understanding, attention and comfort. I find… well, you saw. Can you really condemn me for trying to find joy other men take for granted?"

Jane could take no more. As the men gazed at one another, she quietly slipped out of the room. She quickly returned to her bedroom.

Everything was just as she had left it. The room was stripped of all her belongings, already packed in the trunks and presumably loaded into the carriage. Only one suit of clothes waited for her in the open armoire – a plum-colored travelling dress, cloak and hat. White gloves lay on her dressing table, along with the pins for the hat. Her first set of clothes as a married woman.

What was she now? Jane did not know. She felt almost widowed – of her love, her hopes and dreams. With painful clarity she recalled the countless Sunday sermons she attended – in one way or the other, they all had one goal; that of teaching the congregation not to set their hearts on worldly things more than was necessary. She also recalled every endearment, every word of love that she had received from her one-time groom. They rang in her ears like tolling bells.

What hurt her most in a way was their sincerity. She was still convinced that Ed… _Mr. Rochester_ loved her very much. That was a comfort. If she thought that his affection was also a deception… things would be still more dreadful.

Jane changed into the travelling suit, packing her wedding gown into the waiting box. She looked around the room and sat down in a chair.

She could still see the woman in her mind's eye. Her looks and her clothing complimented and contradicted each other so… the nightgown, the wrap… The wrap?

Jane sat up straight. At the time she did not pay much attention, but as the scene reconstructed itself in her brain, she could see a lace wrap on the woman's shoulders. And the pattern was very familiar – the wedding veil Jane was to wear.

What was she to do now?

A soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.

"Do come in," she said, trying to look unaffected.

It was Uncle Freddy. His face was ashen; Jane was painfully reminded of the look he wore at her parents' funerals. He moved as silently and unobtrusively as he possibly could, taking a seat in the chair opposite to hers and looking earnestly in her eyes.

"Jane, dear girl, what can I do?"

"I am afraid no one can do a thing, Uncle dear," she replied with a sad smile. "Unless we wake up and realize it was all a dream."'

"Sweet, dear girl," Frederick said, taking both of her hands in his own, "would you rather go to Howell, or join us at Merryweather?"

"Howell, I think, Uncle," Jane replied quietly. "Nothing heals like home, does it?"

"Maybe so, but you'll be all alone there," Frederick remarked uncertainly. "Are you sure you don't need any company?"

"I'd rather be alone a little, but I promise to join you for Christmas, even in London," Jane said with a smile.

"I'll hold you to it," Frederick grinned.

Frederick left her to her thoughts for well over an hour. He spent some of that time with Edith and Clara, both of whom were either too shocked (the latter) or upset (the former) to be quite coherent. He spoke to Edith alone for a few minutes, deciding that they ought to be gone from the house that very day for everyone's sake.

And Jane? She felt, she knew what she must do. Yet doing it was unbearable. It meant acknowledging everything, accepting reality. With a new purpose, Jane rose and made her way out of the room.

Down the stairs she went, quiet as a shade. Down the stairs, into the entrance hall, so quietly that no one had hope of hearing. Instinctively, she knew where her path would lead – she was sure. Stopping before the library door, she lifted her eyes heavenward, begging for courage and strength. It would have been easier to leave without looking back. To sever the tie that connected the two souls divided by an unbridgeable chasm.

She couldn't do it. It would be cowardly and unworthy. Not to mention useless – the cord of their attachment would not relent from such a meager effort. She knew that, deeply down in her heart, this – _cursed_ – love would linger faithfully, no matter the distance either in time or space. Nothing would allow her to forget the warmth that only _he_ could give.

Jane turned the doorknob. The door was unlocked – it gave way easily, welcomingly. She entered, shutting it behind herself as quietly as she could.

Nothing changed since last night when Jane was here last. The bookshelves lining the room greeted her like old friends. Only last night she was looking for a volume to prove some point to… _Mr. Rochester_. They laughed at the absurdity of their scholastic argument. Now it felt like something unreal, insignificant and long ago.

He sat in his usual chair, staring at the fireplace, now black and empty. Not a muscle moved. She was certain, however, that he was aware of her being there. Slowly, quietly, she approached the chair opposite his and lowered herself into it.

For the first time, Mr. Rochester's gaze flickered to her frame – so quickly that Jane questioned ever seeing it, for in the next moment his eyes were on the fireplace once more.

"You despise me," he spoke in an even tone. "It is eminently right that you despise me. Have you come to say it to my face?" Before she could reply, he continued. "No, I know you haven't. How could such a pure creature descend to such a low aim? Why have you come, Jane? It pains you to be here; I can see blood ooze from your heart."

"Because it would have been just as low for me not to come at all," Jane said, inwardly proud of her calm demeanor and tone. Inwardly, her heart froze with horror and pity to see him in such pain. She longed to embrace him, wrap her arms around his neck and tell him that all will be well, that the nightmare had passed and that she'd never leave him again. But she couldn't. Not because she would be censured by the public, but because it would be wrong. The man before her was married, and she had no right to do what her heart cried for.

"I wish to know," she continued. "I wish to know – why?"

Mr. Rochester fully faced her now. His eyes bore into hers, as though searching for something.

"It is only fair, I suppose," he finally said with a sigh. "A sordid story it is, but… it is only fair." Keeping his eyes on her face, he began.

"I had only ever known two close blood relatives – my father and brother. My mother died when I was young; I have no clear memory of her. My brother was three years older, poised to inherit the estate when my father was dead. They understood each other much better than either understood me. Father was a rather distant figure. He doted on his firstborn and decided that he would inherit every penny. He took measures to provide for my well-being, however – people would talk if I was left penniless. And the honor of Rochesters meant everything to them."

"As I found out later, he searched for a bride for me – a rich one to discharge his own duty of providing for me. His choice fell upon the sister of a schoolmate of mine, sent from Jamaica to be educated in England. The girl was to have thirty thousand pounds as her dowry. I was sent to Jamaica on the pretext of visiting Richard, but instead, with the efforts of the entire family, I was affianced to the woman and speedily married to her."

"Not all that glitters is gold – never were truer words spoken," he continued after a short pause. "Barely a month after the ceremony I began to notice her… oddities, which were carefully kept from me before. Before, I never saw her for very long – or alone. Now, I saw violence, rapid change of demeanor. I found out about the numerous instances of madness in her family. Still I hoped to help her – brought her to England – what if a more temperate clime pacified her? It was all for nothing on the ship, I saw that she was beyond assistance. I hid her away here, for both my father and brother were now dead. And I traveled, to escape the horror of her."

"But then, I met my Redeemer – in a London drawing-room, of all the unlikely places – I hate that city, but you knew that. I met Her whom I was meant to love with all the power given me – and whom I was destined to wound so unforgivably. I told myself, that a marriage such as one I was trapped in could not be legal, even though by law I cannot dissolve it. Is it, can it be a sin if I love you so much? That woman would be taken care of, as she always has been. I've done the best I could. Do I not deserve to be happy?"

Jane's face could not be described. She was attuned to his pain, for it belonged to her as well.

"I cannot judge that; only God can," she replied, swallowing a wave of tears. "All I know is that I cannot be under the same roof as you any longer. I must leave you."

He nodded – slowly, painfully. He understood what she could not articulate – that her principles, her honor, all the traits he loved her for, were telling her to do what she knew to be right. But he had to know.

"Do you despise me, Jane?"

She gave him a long searching look.

"I can't," she finally said. "I cannot bear to."

Jane rose, and so did he. Their eyes remained fixed on each other. She was the one to break away, to turn around and leave the room.

She had to find Frederick to discuss travel arrangements.


	18. Chapter 18

18

Phew! This was one long week. But I did find the time to write this chapter. Thank you for your reviews; please don't stop!

A smart black carriage stopped by an inn. It was certainly the smartest vehicle for three miles, or it would have been had its axle not snapped. Three figures exited, searching for lodgings and assistance.

Jane and the Osbornes left Thornfield yesterday in the afternoon. Last night was spent at the home of the Alfred Lennox Mr. Osborne visited a year ago. The three travelers decided to explain Jane's unmarried state by wedding being called off by mutual consent. No details were to be provided.

Jane made her way into the inn while Frederick was talking to the stable boy. She and Edith settled themselves by the common room fire.

The inn was sparsely populated just then. No one kept them company apart from the innkeeper's wife and her small boy. Mrs. Jones struck up an easy conversation with Mrs. Osborne, and Jane gazed into the flames. Their random motion calmed her stretched nerves.

Once all the formalities were over, a light dinner was served. Jane ate little; she was tired and mentally spent. Her mind refused to obey the rules of civility – she excused herself as quickly as she could.

Alone in her room, Jane laid herself upon the bed, fully clothed. She had absolutely no will to do anything. Yet her mind suddenly rebelled. It was completely uncalled for to fall apart in this pathetic fashion. She had to live on, as energetic and determined as ever. Robert and Carrie needed her. She had no right to wallow in sorrow – she was the eldest in their family and had to provide an example. Not that they would ever suspect her struggles – Jane would present an unaffected façade to all the world, and no one needed to be the wiser. It was a mercy that her engagement wasn't widely publicized. Her siblings wouldn't question her change of heart excessively, and those privy to the real reasons would be discreet enough not to mention them. Jane smiled as she recalled Uncle Freddy's allusion to "having a word" with Aunt Clara, who enjoyed good gossip.

In the morning, Jane was greeted by the cheery Mrs. Jones when she came down. Uncle Freddy was already supplied with tea and toast. Jane joined him with a will; his good sense helped her like nothing else could. They began a conversation on a new layout for the formal garden at Howell Jane contemplated. Minutes later, sketches littered the breakfast table.

A knock on the door announced the arrival of a guest. Mrs. Jones must have seen and recognized the visitor from a window, as she smoothed her hair and skirts before opening the door. Jane and Frederick watched with some curiosity, eager to know what personage would solicit such stately preparations.

Through the open door in came a tall, blond man. Even Jane who, at present, was not at all susceptible to attractions of the opposite gender, had to admit that she had never seen a more perfectly chiseled set of features. Blue eyes surveyed the room with a level of familiarity; he took off his hat and spoke to the landlady.

"Good day, Mrs. Jones. I see that I am early; my uncle isn't here yet."

"Not yet, Mr. Rivers," the woman replied "but I daresay the stagecoach ought to pass this way within the quarter of an hour. Sit yourself down; I'll get you some tea."

"Thank you, madam," the man replied civilly. He settled himself at the other end of the long table Jane and Frederick occupied. The abovementioned pair eyed him with surreptitious curiosity for a moment.

"Good morning, sir," Frederick said genially.

"Good morning," Mr. Rivers said with just the proper civility. He nodded to the young woman.

"My name is Frederick Osborne," the elder man continued, "and this lady is Miss Graham, a friend and kinswoman."

"St. John Rivers," the youth supplied. "I am the curate of this parish. What brings you here?"

"Our carriage broke down," Frederick replied with a rueful smile.

"Ah, I see."

"I understand you are waiting for someone?"

"Yes, my uncle is to arrive presently. He is coming to stay for a few weeks."

"That must be nice," Jane commented.

"Yes, indeed, though the occasion is hardly a happy one," St. John said levelly. "His brother died."

"Please accept my apology," Jane said, regretting her statement. "I spoke hastily."

"Not at all," was the reply. "You couldn't have known."

Jane inclined her head in appreciation for his clemency. For ten minutes, a conversation on mundane topics occupied the three people. Just as it lulled into a silence, the door opened and in came a man.

Jane had to stifle a gasp of recognition. She had seen this man before. A moment was sufficient to remember when and where. This gentleman had once visited her mother's grave – Mr… Eyre, that was it. She vividly recalled the short conversation they had; it lifted her spirits somehow.

The passage of a year had not considerably aged him. He was still lean, still dressed in dark colors. Jane was again moved by his hazel eyes; quick and discerning, they instantly took in the room and its occupants. Their gaze softened with the sight of Mr. Rivers – Jane supposed he was the expected uncle – but grew surprised as he saw her.

"Mr. Eyre," she said, acknowledging him with an incline of her head.

"Miss Graham," he nodded. "Hello, St. John, it is good to see you at last."

"Uncle," Mr. Rivers rose to shake the man's hand. "I see you know Miss Graham?"

"We've met," Charles replied.

"Please allow to present my friend and relation, Mr. Frederick Osborne. Uncle, this is Mr. Eyre."

Cordial greetings were exchanged.

Edith came down afterwards. She seemed to be a little wary of Mr. Rivers, who was, Jane had to admit, akin to a marble statue in ways not limited to physical appearance. He was impeccably polite but cold; no warmth entered his steady gaze. He did, however, accept Frederick's invitation to breakfast. Afterwards, he and his visitor were about to leave when a villager came in search of the young man on some urgent business.

"Go, St. John, and don't concern yourself with me," Charles said contentedly. "I wasn't ready for another carriage ride in any case. I think I'll take a walk while you are busy – Miss Graham, would you do me the honor of accompanying me?"

Jane agreed readily. She retrieved a hat and a shawl from upstairs and accepted the gentleman's offered arm. Frederick agreed to go with them.

The morning air was very pleasant after the stuffy common room. Jane and Charles reveled in its freshness while Frederick stopped to look through a shop of some kind – he was an avid antiques collector.

"So, what brings you to this place, Miss Graham?" Charles asked gently.

"Our carriage took a bad turn – it is being repaired," Jane replied smoothly.

"But why were you in the area at all?"

"I was… visiting a friend," Jane said, growing nervous. Her wound was too fresh and delicate to be discussed.

"I won't pry, if that is what you fear," Charles said, ever so softly and gently. "But I can easily see, my dear child, that your heart had been recently wounded – broken, perhaps." He took both of her hands into his own. "Your conversation, your eyes – you may say I know nothing about you, and you'd be right, but I knew your mother very well, and I can see the similarities. It is not my place to know who or what did this to you, but I feel I must say one thing; it will get better."

"Will it?" Jane implored. Somehow, inexplicably, she felt the necessity to trust this man. Her mother drew an invisible cord between them – and they saw each other for the second time in their lives.

"Beyond a shadow of a doubt," Charles replied.

For the first time in days, smiling did not hurt.


	19. Chapter 19

19

Chapter nineteen, hopefully to your liking. Thank you for reading and reviewing, don't forget to continue to do it!

Howell welcomed Jane as only home could. As a child, she spent a lot of time here in the company of Mlle Guisot. In the summer, when the duties of a high-society wife permitted, her mother joined the children's household. Those were some of the brightest memories Jane had of her mother and her childhood.

She was alone this time around. Her younger siblings were at school and the Osbornes left for their own estate. Both were determined to persuade her to go with them, but she wouldn't. Solitude was the greatest comfort.

September was unseasonably warm that year. The trees remained green longer than usual; and the golden hues were equally reluctant to leave. Jane spent most of her time in the garden, writing letters or reading.

By mid-November, Frederick had succeeded in persuading her to resume residence in the London house. The truth was, he meant to keep an eye on her, to make sure that her grief and pain did not take on dangerous forms. He did not wish her to torture herself unnecessarily, as she was certainly prone to. Jane meant to help him ease her conscience.

What Frederick failed to take into account – as a man, he can be pardoned for the inability to chart the female thought process – was that the London house was the site of Jane and Edward's first meeting. The memory of it hit the woman with unbearable power as soon as she entered the drawing-room and saw the couch upon which she sat with Mother that evening. So many losses – what was she to do?

Live – that was Mr. Eyre's suggestion, and she meant to follow it. Jane couldn't quite explain – not even to herself – why she wished to accept his advice. He knew and loved Mother – that should have been reason enough. But his own figure seemed to emanate warmth and comfort. One couldn't help but trust him.

Winter arrived. Jane made it a point to appear in society regularly; Robert and Caroline would need the family name to be known well in certain circles. And so, she duly dined, danced and conversed in large parties, overcoming her personal distaste for them.

It was in late January that Lady Granville gave one of her famous dinners. The invitations were highly sought after, as she could introduce anyone to anyone. It was well known that she entered the outer circles of the society that surrounded the Duchess of Kent[1]. Of course, that wasn't as flattering as Clara chose to believe, seeing the intense dislike of the King towards his sister-in-law. Even so, the King was old, and clever people took care to make themselves useful to the heiress' mother.

Jane was taken in to dinner by Frederick, as always. Her mind was occupied by the alterations to Caroline's room at Howell she was contemplating. Carrie was too old for the pale pink walls.

Her attention was diverted by the sound of melodious laugh from across the table. The source was a lovely elderly woman with snow-white hair, dressed in a dark-green gown. She was smiling still when her eyes met Jane's.

"Hello, my dear," she said. "Did my exuberance disturb you very much?"

"Not at all, ma'am," Jane replied quite truthfully. "On the contrary, your laugh is quite charming."

"Indeed?" the woman inquired, amused. "You say the most delightful things, my child – I decidedly like you, and I like a precious few people. What is your name?"

"I am Jane Graham."

"Ah, I have heard of you from a very dear friend of mine – I believe you are acquainted with Maud Lennox?"

"Of course, her husband is a friend of a friend – Mr. Osborne."

"Ah, yes, of course, I know something of the gentleman. Oh, I long to go back to the area – I have spent my girlhood there – but married a London man. And such things are taking place there now – or rather last fall. I have had letters from Maud full of it. A gentleman we grew up knowing proved to be quite a study in the unexpected."

"Oh?"

"Well, my dear, when I was a girl, all the mothers of the neighborhood taught their girls to stay away from a certain gentleman… a Mr. N, if you will. He had a younger brother, quiet as a lamb, quite despised by the father. The elder was the good son. Well, in the space of a few decades, the father dies, the crude elder brother dies, and the lamb unleashes an inner lion – not to mention a profligate!"

Jane suddenly felt very cold.

"Maud said that he married most unwisely fifteen years ago – and could not rid himself of the alliance. His wife went mad, you see, so he shut her away in the attic! And then, if you please, he wishes to marry a second time, but his brother-in-law interferes _at the altar_! Will you believe that? Poor girl got away from him as quickly as she could, of course, and rightly so! But if the gentleman had thought that his troubles were over, he was very much mistaken!"

"Why do you say that?" Jane inquired.

"Well, my dear, he was still residing under one roof with the madwoman. She must have been cleverer than he gave her credit for being, because her retribution was beyond description. She escaped from her confinement, took a candle and burned his manor down! And he was injured trying to get to her – and she jumped off the roof!" the lady finished with gusto. "Why, my dear, you look dreadfully pale – are you quite well?"

"Yes, thank you," Jane said slowly, trying to rein in the emotions that awoke with fresh fervor as the woman so excitedly related her tragedy as the juiciest gossip in the world – which, Jane supposed, it was. Maud Lennox had omitted her name, or else the lady would have recognized her.

"Ah, there's Mr. Osborne now, coming to fetch you, I suppose!"

"Mrs. Simmons, I believe?" Frederick asked politely upon approach.

"Quite so, my good sir," the woman smiled. "Your little protégé is delightful – you are, my dear girl. Good night to you both!"

Jane could not recall thanking Lady Granville for the evening. When they were waiting for cloaks to be brought in, she contrived to whisper to Frederick.

"Uncle Freddy, could you not come home with me tonight? I must speak to you. Please."

Frederick nodded. He had noticed her pallor and disquietude. Turning to his wife, he exchanged a few words with her. They would first go to their house to let her retire, and he would accompany Jane home and counsel her on whatever the matter was.

In the familiar comfort of the upstairs parlor frequently used for meeting family and close friends, Jane told Frederick of Mrs. Simmons' narrative. The man listened attentively, his chin resting on his folded hands. When Jane finished, he was silent for a minute.

"What do you wish to do?" he finally asked.

"If I knew!" Jane said ruefully, pacing before the window covered with a heavy drape of crimson velvet. "I suppose the first thing would be to investigate – to see if any word is true of all she said."

"Jane, I couldn't be prouder," Frederick said with a smile. "You could teach us all how to use common sense. I think the safest thing would be for me to go and see Lennox for a week or two. Our inquiries cannot be very well explained in a letter… whatever his wife seems to believe. I thought he'd marry a sensible woman… If the tale's confirmed, what am I to do?"

"Come back to London and we'll discuss it, I suppose," Jane said pensively. "I must admit I haven't planned that far ahead just yet."

"God bless you, my sensible girl," Frederick said. "I will do whatever you require of me and offer you my sincere opinion on any subject you wish. Good night, sweet child."

"Good night, Uncle."

Mr. Osborne kissed her forehead and left.

[1] Victoria, Duchess of Kent – mother to Queen Victoria of United Kingdom


	20. Chapter 20

20

Thank you for continued reading and reviewing! Don't forget to let me know what you think!

Frederick left for the Lennoxes' at the beginning of the following week, having seen Jane the evening prior to his departure. They discussed what he was to do again; to see if there was any merit to Mrs. Simmons' tale. They would make conclusions later.

Jane wasn't certain what she personally wished. If the rumor was true, Mr. Rochester was unshackled by an undesirable marriage. What would happen to them then? She couldn't deny that, should he propose again, she'd be highly tempted to reply in the affirmative. At the same time, Mrs. Simmons mentioned injuries. Just how extensive were they? Her heart swelled with pain at the thought of him suffering physically as well as mentally. And the idea of Thornfield burning down… and the terrible vision of the dark beauty splayed across the courtyards paving stones… what horrors those must have been!

If the tale was false, the conclusion would be far more straightforward. Jane would change nothing. There was nothing to change.

Such were Jane's musings on a cold, snowy morning as she sat in the drawing room of the Graham London residence. Embroidery, which occupied her fingers half an hour ago, had slipped into her lap unheeded. Her eyes were directed towards the window which opened into the street below.

She had already been visited by Edith this morning. The woman had come to give her a friendly warning; John Reed was in town again, this time with both sisters in tow. Jane was certainly grateful for the prior knowledge, as there was no telling what could transpire if the gentleman cornered her unawares in company. He was far too self-assured for his own good.

Just as she smiled a little at the last thought, a carriage stopped in front of the house. With a choking laugh, Jane observed the very man climb out, then hand two young women down on the pavement. As the latter straightened their skirts and cloaks, he approached the front door and gave a resounding knock.

A few minutes later, a footman announced the arrival of "Mr. John Reed and the Misses Reed." Jane nodded for them to be shown in.

The trio entered, smiling brightly and dressed entirely too well for a morning visit. Jane rose to greet them with the most welcoming smile she could master.

"Miss Graham," Reed spoke with gusto, "what a delight to see you again! This time, I brought my sisters along – it is high time they saw some society. Please allow me introduce Miss Reed and Miss Georgiana."

"A pleasure, ladies," Jane said warmly. "Might I persuade you to have some tea? It looks like a cold day."

They agreed readily. When the refreshment was brought in, they settled themselves around the tray. John Reed led conversation with a will. Jane was enjoying observing his sisters, whom she was seeing for the first time.

Elizabeth, the elder, followed the conversation because she was compelled to by her mere presence. Her tight lips and strictly controlled expression suggested that the frivolous subjects her brother pursued with such mirth did not amuse her. Georgiana was very much under John's influence, agreeing to every one of his opinions and giggling prettily at every appropriate time. Jane was suddenly aware that these people, so entirely unknown, were her blood relations. Their father, long dead now, was her mother's brother. Under different circumstances – if Jane Reed had married a country gentleman, for instance - they could have grown up together, learned lessons, danced at the same assemblies. Jane felt extremely grateful that those things did not take place.

"I see we are boring our good cousin," John spoke and Jane realized that something of her vacant expression must have been obvious. She gave an apologetic smile to her rising cousins, ringing the bell for the tea things to be taken away.

"Are you coming to the dinner the Donovans are giving on Thursday?" Georgiana inquired.

"I haven't made my mind up yet," Jane replied.

"I do hope you do," the young woman said, fanning herself with an excited air. "Mrs. Donovan always has the most interesting people at dinners."

"So she does," Jane admitted. "I am eternally astonished by her power to attract interesting people." _Or, should I say, vicious gossips?_

"Miss Graham," John spoke up again, "tomorrow I am to take my sisters to a tea party and will have no occupation for its duration – may I call on you?"

"But of course," Jane smiled. How could one say no, really? She had no engagement and was unable to invent one.

When John Reed arrived the next afternoon, it was to find Jane perched on the sofa in the same room, the tea already set out before her. She smiled warmly at him, asking him to sit down.

"I failed to make inquiries when you were here yesterday," she spoke, pouring the tea. "How is my Aunt Reed?"

"My mother is well," John said, accepting the offered vessel. "She was rather hoping you could be prevailed upon to visit Gateshead this summer."

"Indeed," Jane said noncommittally. "I do not know whether that would be possible. My brother and sister will be on vacation, and I was planning to take them to Howell for the summer. We need the time together very much."

"Well, perhaps you will change your mind… about this and some other things."

Jane's throat felt very dry.

"You think I've given up, Miss Graham," he continued pleasantly. "But I do not plan to."

"I will not say yes."

"Oh, not on your own. With a little persuasion, you might."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Well, that's an interesting question." John took a sip of tea slowly, relishing the look of consternation on her face. "You know, cousin, it's incredible what one can find if one looks. My mother received the notice of your upcoming marriage. And yet, it did not take place –now, why would that be? I went to the vicinity of Thornfield – I see the name has an effect on you – and asked around. The parson was most happy to reveal the true state of affairs to a concerned cousin."

"I see," Jane said curtly. "You cannot reveal anything that couldn't be unearthed by anyone. I am not ashamed of anything – I did nothing to be ashamed of."

"Surely you wouldn't wish Mr. Rochester to be exposed for what he is to the society at large?"

"I thought that happened in the church."

:"Oh, my dear cousin, I can do better than that! I meant London, the British nobility and gentry."

"My name will be associated with the infamy," Jane said. "Surely you wouldn't wish to marry a woman with such a sordid past?"

"I'd be doing a noble deed – that's worth something. I would give you a new, untarnished name. Think of your siblings – do you wish them associated with such a tale?"

Jane rose. Her fury was readily apparent in her eyes, heaving chest, and hands that clutched bunches of the fabric of her dress.

"I have far too much self-respect to respond to a claim of that sort, sir. You have asked for my hand in marriage; I refused. You saw fit to come here and insult me – this will do nothing to further your suit with me! My family will be outraged by the slander. Remember, sir, that, even though we are cousins, I am the daughter and sister of a peer of England. I can seek protection in circles you can only dream of."

John's face was a wondrous sight to behold. He had counted on Jane's meekness and quiet concern for her family's wellbeing. But he had pushed her too far. Anger gave her courage such as few other things did. And she was right. The only way for him to coerce her was to frighten her – but that seemed to be a vain hope.

"Please leave," Jane said through clenched teeth.

He was too shocked to argue.

As soon as the drawing room door slammed shut behind him, a great shiver ran through the young woman's body. She had never been a victim to such a rage before. Now, she felt drained, too weak to lift her foot. With a quiet moan of pain, Jane fell onto the sofa and cried – for her lost hopes, dreams and loves.


	21. Chapter 21

21

Thank you for your continued support, everyone! It means so much!

Jane had the savage satisfaction of hearing that Mr. Reed was leaving his sisters in the care of some relatives while temporarily returning to Gateshead the very next week. His mother insisted on his return – or so he told everyone. Jane, who had reasons to doubt this earnest example of filial loyalty and affection, could only nod in understanding.

Only Edith was told of the incident. The lady was torn between outrage at his presumption, pride in Jane's actions and amusement at his speedy flight. She was happy to see the meek woman stand up for herself at last.

Mrs. Osborne had only a sketchy understanding of her husband's reasons for visiting the Lennoxes. Jane and Frederick decided to keep their thoughts to themselves for the time being – there was no need to worry her unnecessarily. It was simply an investigation.

Jane was with Edith when Frederick had returned. He did not write ahead, so it was a surprise to them both when the carriage pulled in at the front door. The women smiled in anticipation, watching him climb out of the vehicle and greet the servants who came out for the luggage.

"Well, well, this is nice!" he said with a smile upon entering the drawing room, still in his cloak and only just pulling off his hat. "Two such fine women waiting for me – this is nice indeed!" He kissed his wife's hand and Jane's cheek with equal affection and leaned over the mantle.

"Let me stand here a little, I have been sitting all day. Jane, you look very well indeed. Edith, dear, would you kindly ring for tea? Thank you; it's chilly out there."

"Won't you change, Freddy, dear?" Edith was surprised.

"Oh, not just yet. I have a story to tell that cannot wait. Yes, Edith, it is quite urgent."

Jane's face was an enviable mask of composure. Edith glanced at them both, feeling as though she was missing something vital for understanding what was happening directly in front of her. Hoping that all would be clear soon, she left to procure tea.

"Well, dear Jane," Frederick said, turning to face the young woman, "do you mind if I include Edith in our business? I didn't when I left, and now, I think she ought to know."

"Do as you think is best," Jane nodded. "I have no objections against her knowing, and it is a poor practice," her lips curved gently upwards, "to keep secrets from one's wife."

"Precisely, my dear," the man smiled. "You, my little Jane, look straight into the heart of all matters and are unafraid of doing so – a precious gift, I call it. But here is Edith."

While Mrs. Osborne poured out the tea, Frederick explained to her the object of his journey. She shook her head.

"It's dangerous and insensitive to act upon an idle rumor," she said with conviction. "The things which could have happened… well, it's done. What is the result of your journey?"

"Well, this week and a half was certainly interesting and informative," Frederick responded, accepting the offered teacup. "Mrs. Simmons was not mistaken; Thornfield is, most certainly, a burned-down ruin."

A sigh of regret escaped Jane's lips. "And Mr. Rochester?" she inquired.

"Poor Edward. Life was unkind to him. He is badly maimed, my dear girl. He tried to save the hapless wretch who bears his name, but she would not be saved. As a result, he stayed much longer in the burning building than he should have. He is blind, my little love; he also lost a hand. I did not go to see him, but they say he refuses visitors of any sort. He was punished most cruelly."

Jane nodded in mute understanding. Her heart was bleeding, tearing along the freshly stitched seams. She may have blamed him for her pain; she may have resented his deceit, but, deeper and stronger than anger, love for him still burned in her heart. She knew and understood his motives… even if she couldn't agree with his reasoning. No, she couldn't hate him, even if she wanted to.

The same musings occupied her mind on the way home as well. She asked Frederick to call on her in two days. He needed rest and time with his family. And she needed to think.

The question burned within her – what to do? What was she prepared to do? He was hurt and alone, all alone. Knowing the circles in which he had moved – much like her own they were – she was certain that any company he might have had before the tragedy would have€ dispersed by now. No one would be there to talk to him, amuse him, help him.

She would do all those things gladly. She would never see his shortcomings as burdens; no, they would only endear him to her more, if that was possible. Being with him would not be a heroic self-sacrifice, not when she knew how much she would enjoy his constant company. Jane remembered the easy conversations they had before the pain. Had she known anything that stimulated or entertained her more? No, indeed. And as for the way he must look now – that meant nothing. She was no beauty herself. And he had never been that handsome to begin with.

With a smile, she remembered the deceiving good looks of her cousin Reed. What a lesson in physiognomy he was! Unfortunately, she could only share the tale with the select few. And then Jane realized that she was smiling thinking of him… what was the matter with her? Had her heart reawakened? Had it remembered how to love and be happy? Oh, silly girl, getting ahead of herself! Nothing has been decided yet! But her heart felt and knew. It had chosen its path and waited only for the mind's permission to proceed.

And so, on the morning of Frederick's prearranged visit, Jane's decision was made.

As soon as he entered the small sitting room, the man knew that his expectations were correct. Jane stood with her back to the window and facing him. She wore a simple green dress that complimented her eyes nicely. And what eyes they were – resolve and purpose lived in them. He knew and secretly approved.

"Good morning, Uncle Freddy," she said with an unrestrained smile. "Thank you for keeping our engagement so precisely."

"But of course, my dear," he said, embracing her and gently kissing her warm cheek. "You look marvelous," he added, taking a seat at her bidding.

"Well, my dear?" he inquired.

"Well, Uncle?" She was smiling.

"I think I know."

"I think you do. I must go to him. No matter what he thinks of me, I must do what I can for him… if he allows me, of course."

"Oh, I imagine he will, if with a little persuasion," Frederick said. "He is a proud man, certainly, but he loves you, I know. If I didn't know him as I do, I would never have consented to your little scheme. I feel responsible for you, Jane; I am the closest thing to a parent you have – I had to be certain you'd be safe. And I am, which is why my advice is: go. But not alone; I'm coming with you."

"What will Aunty say? You've just returned."

"I am sure she would be far more troubled if I permitted you to go alone," Frederick said with conviction. "And I would not entrust this to any other of your relations –everybody is either occupied with their own concerns or bound to gossip."

Jane nodded gratefully. Knowing Osborne, this was not unexpected, but wasn't any less appreciated for it. It was pleasant to know that someone had your interests so earnestly at heart.

"I will begin to make arrangements for the journey, then," she said contentedly."I think we will go to Mrs. Dent's for a visit – she is always happy when someone visits her. And I haven't done so in a while."

"That is a good thought… Now, child, what is this I hear about threats coming your way while I was gone?"

Jane told him about Reed's visit. Frederick looked angry, but pleased with Jane's reaction.

"Well done, my girl," he said, laughing softly at her description of John's flustered face. "That's the way to deal with insolence. Do not forget who you are – and what is owed to your rank and title of a self-respecting human being."

They continued in the same companionable vein for some time. Before he left, Frederick discussed some possible dates of departure. Two weeks were enough for preparations, they resolved.

When he left, Jane sat in the room for a long time yet, trying to decide if her hope was a vain one.


	22. Chapter 22

22

Sorry for the slight delay – silly college getting in the way of writing. Remember to leave a review!

Caroline Dent was delighted to play hostess to Jane and Frederick. She was in particular need of company, as her husband and children were gone to visit an ill relative. Therefore, it was with loving care that she embraced the young woman who alighted from the carriage at her doorstep.

"Dear, how well you do look!" Caroline commented happily. Indeed, despite the dark gray cloak that wrapped itself securely around her thin frame, Jane looked very well. Light frost gave her cheeks a lovely rosy hue, and her eyes sparkled merrily. Frederick, who handed her out of the vehicle, was delighted. Perhaps, his little Jane could be happy, after all. If only a certain someone's stubbornness and pride did not interfere…

Caroline was extremely interested in any and all news they could impart; hence, suppertime was animated. Knowing her penchant for stories with a tiny hint of scandal, Frederic regaled the hostess with a few choice tales – nothing too sordid, just amusing. He saw Jane shake with suppressed mirth, which encouraged him to go on for quite a while.

Jane was the first to retire, just as Frederick had hoped. He planned on having a quiet little talk with the hostess concerning their task at hand.

"Now, my dear Mrs. Dent," he said with a secretive smile, knowing how to incite her interest and, hence, cooperation, "I know how you love stories that end well; won't you help a happy end?" He briefly outlined the history of Jane's almost-marriage. Caroline only gaped; she knew very little, as Maud Lennox was not so vocal with her immediate neighbors as she could be with friends far away. When Osborne finished, she nodded, understanding dawning on her kind face.

"I did wonder what happened at Thornfield," she said. "What you told me was actually circulated in the area, but since it was servants' talk, I dismissed it at once. Poor Jane – such a blow, and she is too good a creature… Are you sure you wish her to marry Rochester after the vile way he treated her?"

"I know it's an unconventional plan, to say the least," Frederick said, nodding along. "But I have known him since boyhood, and her – since she was born. They will work wonders on one another."

Caroline watched his confident face. Never before had she seen him so excited about something so strange and vaguely sordid. But she did trust his judgment – especially where the people he knew so intimately were concerned. And so, she gave him very detailed directions to a secluded house in the middle of a thick forest.

* * *

The ride to Ferndean Manor was a pleasant one. The forest was covered with near-pristine snow, disturbed only by the trails left by the few wakeful creatures prowling about. Silence ruled all, as the snow was frozen together and produced very little sound.

Jane and Frederick, wrapped securely in heavy fur-lined cloaks, sat in the moving carriage in almost complete silence. Neither knew precisely what they would do upon arrival. Frederick wondered how to force Edward to see them for a start.

Jane was apprehensive. What exactly would she do and say? What could she do or say? Any words seemed trite or ridiculous. And would he even listen to her? Perhaps he would not wish to revive the memories of events that led to the catastrophe – but hush! She must act her age. A decision has been made and she must honor it.

There was a tiny village with a decent inn near the manor – not more than three miles. Not sure whether it would be needed, Frederick secured lodging at the inn for one night. It was odd, how a plan that took so long to develop had dissipated into thin air. He had hoped for some last-minute inspiration, now much delayed.

They had a hurried lunch – neither ate very much. As their plates were cleared away, Frederick cleared his throat, voicing a most delicate observation.

"Jane, I will, naturally, accompany you."

Jane lifted her eyes to look at him.

"Yes, Uncle, I agree that would be for the best." She smiled weakly. "I do not know if I can do it alone."

"I know you can; it would be unseemly and I have decided that everything ought to be done with due propriety," Frederick said, his eyes twinkling.

"Because I have been so well known for propriety lately," Jane laughed, thinking of the extraordinary history of Edward and herself.

They arrived at Ferndean shortly afterward. The house was an imposing dark structure, whose sharp little spires seemed to shred the very air around it. Somehow, the air felt thick and cloying, smelling of sweet, intoxicating decay.

Frederick helped Jane out of the carriage, looking around him all the while. The lawns were neatly trimmed, but there was very little beauty in the neatness – evidently, nobody was concerned with ornamentation. Glancing at the young woman beside him, Osborne saw that she too remembered the carefully orchestrated lawns at Thornfield, the flowerbeds, the occasional statues and gazebos. Here, a hedge constituted landscaping…

They made it to the front door. Frederick knocked with his cane. The sound seemed to reverberate in the hall beyond, as though to confirm the already apparent emptiness that ruled this secluded abode.

A few minutes passed before the door was slowly opened by a servant Jane recognized from her visits with Rochester household.

"Hullo, John," Frederick said jovially. "I trust Master Edward is in?" He relished the look of complete awe on the elderly man's face as he took in the fact that somebody came to call – and who that somebody was. As though mentally pinching himself out of a shocked reverie, John shook his head and stepped aside, permitting entrance.

"If you step right in, Mr. Osborne, I will go and see."

"Come, good man; you and I both know he is in somewhere; he just might tell you to send his visitors to the devil whence they came in the first place." Frederick told him good-naturedly. "What I wish you to do is – go to him and tell him that an old friend came to call. No names!"

John blinked. A knowing smile – or a shadow of such – appeared on his face. He shrugged, as though relinquishing all responsibility for the proceedings and left.

"Now then," Frederick said, helping Jane remove her heavy cloak, "as he won't know you are here, my dear, you must brace yourself a little. Edward does not care to please where it does not suit him, so…" He was cut off by John's reappearance. "Well, John?"

"He said he has no need of unnamed friends," John said with an apologetic frown.

"Good – he is ready for us then. Go to your duties, man, leave the rest to us."

The servant obeyed, and the visitors went off in the direction he had come from – where his master had to be.


	23. Chapter 23

23

Will you look at this – a timely update! Surprise! Thanks for reviewing, as always; I hope you enjoy this installment. Which, incidentally, is probably the one before last – I expect there will be one more chapter and then I'll leave the poor characters to rest in peace… until I get inspired again, that is… enjoy!

The dark corridor led them into a room, equally obscured by shadow thanks to the heavy drapes that covered the windows. A single candelabrum gave a little relief, placed on a large circular table in the center of the chamber. In its light, Jane saw the outline of a man hunched in an armchair and staring into the blazing fireplace.

They had entered very quietly, but the man must have heard something to warn him of the intruders' presence. He turned to face the entrance door, and his face was illuminated by the flickering candlelight.

Edward Rochester hadn't changed that much since their last meeting. And yet, Jane felt that years – decades – had to have gone by. His face was almost identical to the one that watched her leave last summer – if it weren't for the eyes that were strangely unfocused and the general aged, weary look of him. He looked like a man whose very hope had left without looking back.

"Who's there?" he asked. Jane could have laughed with relief, for his voice hadn't changed an iota. It was still commanding and a little harsh, just as she had remembered it.

Frederick shot her a quick glance, pressed a finger to his lips to indicate silence and spoke.

"Hello, Edward, it's simply an old friend, just as John – I do not doubt it – had informed you."

Their host's face showed some significant surprise, but also relief. It seemed that the thought of the visitor being Frederick was not entirely abhorrent to him.

"Freddy," he said as soon as initial surprise wore off, "You startled me – do take a seat."

"Did I? I beg your pardon, but I hate being announced; at least I am not a peer. Can you imagine how perfectly dreadful it must be – standing in front of an open door for a quarter of an hour, waiting while all your titles are being accounted for?" Frederick chose a chair close to Edward. Having sat down, he looked pointedly at Jane and indicated that she should sit on a stool across the room from her current position making as little noise as possible. Jane obeyed, thinking that her friend was enjoying the scene too much.

What had possessed her to wear taffeta?

"What is that rustling?" Edward asked sharply, trying fruitlessly to discern something from the darkness that filled his eyes.

"Rustling, my friend?" Frederick inquired, amused glint lighting his eyes up. "I suppose nothing escapes your keen hearing these days. I have brought a young lady to dispel this gloom – I'm told by many that her conversation is entertaining to the extreme."

Jane was torn between amusement at Frederick's pedantic tone and pity for Edward, whose mien grew ten shades darker.

"I am afraid I am no longer able to entertain young ladies – you will find yourself disappointed, madam."

"I think I can manage to live through the disappointment, sir," Jane said, weary of this charade. Frederick mimed quiet applause.

Edward's entire frame turned to face the source of the voice. Conveniently, that was easily achieved, as Jane chose a seat directly in his line of sight… as much as the term could be justifiably applied to the case.

"Miss Graham?" he asked, voice shaking with uncertainty. Jane smiled in reassurance, forgetting how futile that was. She spoke.

"Yes, Mr. Rochester, it's me. I do hope _that_ isn't a disappointment."

"No, no," he said, the lines of his face smoothing and deepening by turns. "I am very glad you had the time to call."

"London is dreadfully lonely as far as I'm concerned," she said in friendly, lively manner, even if her heart ached to see him in such a dependent position. "And some of the happiest times I've known happened in the country."

The silence that followed was a heavy one. After a few seconds, Frederick rose with a great sigh of content.

"Edward," he said, "I will take a walk in your garden. Hours in carriage did no favors to my old bones – and it's too cold for you, Jane. Therefore, I leave you in the care of this old bore, and trust that he will attempt to be the gentleman he ought to be for your dear sake. Entertain yourselves!" And with this admonition, he was gone.

Jane shook her head.

"Uncle Freddy gets the maddest ideas at times. To take a walk in such cold weather is pure folly."

"He is a rather original personage," Edward agreed quietly. "For instance, he brought you here – that is madness as well."

"Well, he didn't coerce me into coming, if that is what you believe," Jane said reasonably. "It was really the other way around."

"Why?" He moved a little toward the edge of his seat, as though trying to hear her better.

"I wished to see you," she said softly. "I heard of what happened by pure chance and thought that perhaps my visit would be of use."

"It is," Edward said, as quietly as Jane had spoken.

"Good," she said cheerily. Then, following an impulse, she rose, sought out a low stool, placed it beside Edward's armchair and settled herself on it with a resolute air. "There; that's better, isn't it?"

"Yes," he smiled. His hand – the one hand he had now – clenched and unclenched on his knee. Jane watched it for a few seconds and took it in both of hers. Edward became very rigid; nevertheless, his hold on her hand was very firm. Jane smiled, taking that as encouragement – from Providence, rather than from Edward.

"What have you done with yourself in all this time, Jane?" he asked a little later.

"Oh, my life is rather dull," the woman responded with laughter in her voice. "Visit a party, eat a formal dinner in dreadful company, refuse an offer of marriage from a handsome young man – as I said, it is all rather dull."

"A handsome young man? And who might that be?" Jane was pleased to see his brows knit in concentration.

"A cousin of mine, John Reed," she replied nonchalantly. "A handsome, disagreeable young rake after my fortune – at least, that is what I found him to be."

"I see." He was obviously unconvinced.

"Mr. Rochester, I am not engaged – or married, for that matter. You ought to know better than to think me to be in either of those conditions. Do I routinely get engaged?"

"No, that is my prerogative, apparently," Edward said despondently. Jane could not suppress a chuckle.

"To my knowledge you don't do that terribly often, either," she said. The corners of his mouth twitched a little.

"How often is 'often,' then?"

"Well… five years will do, I expect," Jane replied in a jolly tone. "Fifteen is not nearly long enough, you know." Her countenance grew serious. "Come, Mr. Rochester, let us be friends. I do not harbor any ill will towards you. Maybe I should, but I do not…" Her hand squeezed his gently.

"Your kind, loving nature cannot resent, my dear Miss Graham," he said quietly. "Your heart overflows with pity for my state – I shan't have it. I will not accept anybody's pity, not even yours."

"What I feel is not pity," Jane said stalwartly. "It is compassion – I would never insult you with pity."

"I'm sorry if I was harsh," Edward interjected quickly.

"You weren't," Jane smiled. "You are perfectly entitled to feeling the way you do – I did invade your household uninvited."

"You know you are always welcome, my dear," he said with great feeling. "I cannot help but rejoice at any opportunity to hear you I get… even if it is an indulgence I neither deserve nor am entitled to."

"Nonsense. We are none of us perfect, you know, and I am no exception."

"You have never insulted anyone as I have insulted you. You can't deny it."

"Perhaps not, but… one must never think in these terms of black-and-white. You did not intend to insult or harm; you thought yourself entitled to take what was yours for the taking. And, whatever wrongs you have committed, I do believe your conscience – and circumstances – have amply shown you the error of your ways. Mr. Rochester, please take heed; do not dwell on the past and look to the future as best you can." Jane's voice grew increasingly passionate with each syllable.

They sat in pensive silence for several minutes. Neither knew precisely what to make of this situation. They were suspended in an odd limbo, unable to move both literally and figuratively.

"You ought to move onward, Janet," Edward said at last. "It is no fate for a woman of your worth to be chained to a crumbling ruin such as myself."

"Not chained, but attached," Jane said. "I am sure you see the difference."

"Why would you choose to attach yourself to me, then?"He still held her hand very firmly.

"Because I know you – completely now. I know what moves and inspires you, what hurts and brings you joy. Surely such detailed knowledge cannot be wasted?"

"Such invaluable knowledge that it is," Edward chuckled.

"For those who care about you it is."

"And there are so many of those!"

"Is one not enough?" She gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

"One is all I ever wanted, my dear."

"Well then?"

"What right do I have to condemn you to a life with a cripple – if that is indeed what you are hinting at?"

"Why do you speak of it as if it were a prison sentence?"

"What sensible woman would agree to marry a man who deceived her thus?"

"So we are discussing marriage after all – I am glad to have it out at last – no, don't you laugh at me! What should I prefer – a man who loves my brother's money and title, or a man who loves me? Besides," Jane's smile was audible, "I have spent all this time alone in a closed room with you. Must my honor be thus stained all for nothing?"

Edward chuckled. "Don't you think it'll be stained worse still for marrying a man of my reputation? My deeds have become public knowledge… as you are too aware."

"I can bear it," Jane said indulgently. "I wasn't exactly going to join my fate with yours to please the gossips."

"I suppose not, though you may regret it yet. Jane, are you really trying to bully me into marrying you?"

"If that is what it takes, then yes," Jane laughed.

"You know not what you do."

"Maybe not, but I know a sight more than last time. You can't deny that."

He sighed. "It is very tempting, you know. But you deserve better than me."

"Allow me to be the judge of that."

"You are very stubborn, you know."

"Good thing you know that now, isn't it?"

"Jane, I see you are not to be deterred. Will you marry a man you know to be a cripple, a sinner and in possession of a foul temper?"

"Gladly, my dear."


	24. Chapter 24

24

Well, dear readers, this is it, the final update. I cannot tell you how it feels. It took me a while, especially with the lengthy hiatus, but here is the very last chapter. I want to thank all my readers and reviewers, as well as those who subscribed and favorited. A special extra hug goes to those who reviewed practically every chapter; you were incredible! Your support made this chapter possible. Thank you! Until we meet again… and do let me know what you thought of the chapter and the story as a whole.

_Dear Auntie Edith,_

_Thank you for your last. I have been longing to answer it, but Margie and Freddy have been keeping my hands full. It is a joyous occasion when the little ones learn to walk; one does not, however, anticipate the __full__ impact of this development at once._

_I am overjoyed to hear your granddaughter arrived safely. Isabella Marie is a delightful name. I shall look forward to seeing her at Christmas. In the meantime, tell her Cousin Jane sends her love._

_We have recently seen the ever-elusive Neville. I am highly amused – I could have married the man eight years ago, and I finally meet him for the first time. As Father had wished, he is getting to know Carrie. I was worried at first, but they seem to like each other very well. If he makes her happy, I have nothing more to wish for in that respect. If he does not, I can always refer her to Uncle Freddy, whose matchmaking skills are highly satisfactory, as far as I am concerned._

_I can hear screaming – I am sure to be wanted in a minute. Give my best to all yours – Edward sends his regards._

_Much love from your_

_J.R.G._

Jane relinquished her pen and screwed the inkwell closed with meticulous care. That was another lesson motherhood had taught her – open unattended inkwells had dire consequences.

She went through the open door leading into the garden to investigate the source of the noise. That took next to no time, as Freddy was sprawled on the gravel walk, crying out – Jane strongly suspected his freshly bleeding knee had something to do with it. Sighing, she knelt beside him and wrapped her arms around his little shuddering frame.

"Now, now, Freddy," she said gently. "A scraped knee is unpleasant, to be sure, but hardly worth crying about." She retrieved a handkerchief from a pocket of her gown and patiently wiped the moist cheeks. "I think we better go and clean it up, love," she added, seeing the tears abate a little. Before the boy could respond, he was lifted by two sure arms and carried into the house.

Mrs. Rochester had not changed so very much in the course of eight years and two children. In fact, many who knew her were wont to remark on how little she aged. There was still something elfish in her, some secretive gleam of the eyes that told a careful observer that her humor was still alive under the thin veneer of wifely propriety.

No amount of decorum could stifle her spirit. Jane was determined to be just as she was on a foggy, freezing wintry morning eight years ago, when she finally moved Graham behind Rochester in her signature. Only two people – Mrs. Dent and Frederick – witnessed the event, the latter being the most convenient second witness at the time. The entire marriage took half an hour, nobody being interested in a long-winded ceremony. The witnesses stayed for what Osborne termed "the wedding breakfast that is a day early and three hours late," and left.

The first eight months were spent entirely at Ferndean. Jane liked to complain that, instead of being a wife, she spent most of her time as a personal secretary, taking care of her husband's correspondence. He would dictate, and her pen would produce endless lines of neat, trim text. That generally occupied their afternoons. In the mornings, they usually sat somewhere in the garden, Jane reading out loud, Edward's arm firmly wrapped around her waist.

So they lived, until the day Edward confessed an improvement in the sight of his left eye. Jane went to work with a will, seeking a competent oculist. Such an individual was found with the help of some London acquaintances, and the couple moved to town, albeit grudgingly.

Jane felt strange living in her old home. She was so content in the isolation of the onetime hunting lodge that the bustle of London unnerved her. However, it was necessary. Carrie and Robert were both at school, so Edward and his wife had the house to themselves. Even so, Jane felt like an intruder.

After a long string of visits with the doctor and several modes of treatment, Edward's sight did return a little. The recovery would never be complete; even so, the thought that her dear husband could once again see sunlight and something of the beauty of the world around them comforted Jane. She still insisted on doing most of his writing and reading.

Six years into the marriage, Margaret was born. Jane was secretly relieved – she longed for a child and began to worry because of the rather extended delay. Frederick (how else would we name a son, Edward had chuckled) came nine months ago. At the moment, he was discovering the joys (and the pitfalls) of walking. Jane had quite a time keeping an eye on both children at once.

Edward was gone on an errand concerning some land he wished to buy. He was to be expected tomorrow at lunchtime. Until then, she was the captive of two small children – and delighted with it.

The knee was duly tended to. Freddy was giggling at something – that turned out to be the reflected light from Jane's golden watch, an anniversary present. The boy proceeded to play with the hanging trinket and giggled still more cheerily. The mother couldn't help but be caught up in her little one's mood.

"Mama!"

Margaret stumbled into the room, followed closely by the nurse.

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Rochester, but she wouldn't stay in bed."

"That's quite all right, Mrs. Norris, if you'd be so kind as to take Freddy; I'll mind my girl, and he needs his rest. He had just suffered a grievous war wound."

Freddy was taken away, and Margaret crawled into her mother's open embrace.

"Well, little one, why don't you sleep when you should?"

"Mama!" the girl chirped with alacrity.

"Is that all, darling?" Jane smiled and attempted to kiss the squirming little body. She succeeded at last, and Margaret giggled still more furiously.

Jane rose, holding Margaret in her arms and walked back into the garden. She loved strolling here, with one of her children in her embrace. Dusk was falling on the secluded landscape; night was coming fast. In the west, a bright red fire seemed to blaze in the sky. The tinkle of a nearby brook formed in the recent downpour was very soothing.

Jane began to hum softly. It was an old lullaby her mother used to sing to her so many years ago. The melody was simple, made to lead an unsuspecting infant back to Dreamland whence he or she came. The woman smiled, hearing the telltale quiet breathing that resonated on her chest; Margaret was asleep.

Ever so quietly, Jane retraced her steps into the house and made for the upper level and the nursery. Carefully, she avoided the creaking floorboards she knew well by now. She lowered the little body into the bed and drew the blankets safely around its immobile form. Lastly, she kssed the little forehead.

Tea awaited her downstairs. Armed with a steaming cup, she resumed her letter-writing – some unanswered epistles awaited her attention. Seeking the inspiration for just the right word, she lifted her eyes to gaze out of the open window.

A solitary, very familiar rider was approaching.

Jane rose to meet him outside and perform her glorious duty – that of reminding him that he was lonely no more.


End file.
